


stories like this can't come true

by Shadowcrawler, unwindmyself



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: 1890s, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Phantom of the Opera Fusion, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Cunnilingus, Death, Everyone Is Gay, Evil Grant Ward, F/F, Femslash, First Time, Gen, Kidnapping, Minor Character Death, Operas, Useful Lesbians, Vaginal Fingering, Villain Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-31
Updated: 2017-05-12
Packaged: 2018-10-13 05:42:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 31,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10507452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowcrawler/pseuds/Shadowcrawler, https://archiveofourown.org/users/unwindmyself/pseuds/unwindmyself
Summary: Daisy and Jemma have grown up in the opera house together amongst the ballerinas. Lately, Daisy has been receiving voice lessons from a mysterious teacher.This time: It's opening night of the Ghost's opera and the company has a plan to catch him. Things go awry.





	1. we greet the victorious throng, returned to bring salvation

**Author's Note:**

> or: Sounds fake, but okay.
> 
> You know what this is. It's Phantom, but gayer. Enjoy! We certainly are.
> 
> This started [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5882449/chapters/13978117).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The opera house comes under new management, and due to the interference of its troublesome "ghost," Daisy is given the chance to sing.

Melinda hears voices entering the lobby and sighs to herself. The new owners must be here.

Sure enough, Fury is leading two tall, well-dressed (at least, dressed enough to be monied) men in, who seem impressed by the architecture. “It’s a gorgeous building,” says the one with thinning hair.

“Yes,” says Fury. “The theatre has been here for many years. It’s a staple of the community.”

“Nice little place,” says the other gentleman. “Seems like a good investment.”

“It is,” says the first man, giving his partner a significant look. “Certainly a good use of our...money.” His tone shifts slightly on the last word; Melinda’s not sure what to make of that, but she figures now is as good a time as any to introduce herself. She slips out from where she’d been standing.

“Gentlemen, meet our ballet mistress, Melinda.” Fury nods politely at her. “She handles a lot of the behind-the-scenes aspects in the theatre as well.”

“Hello, Melinda.” The thin-haired man offers his hand. “I’m Philip Coulson, and this is my...business partner, Lance Hunter.”

While Melinda shakes Coulson’s hand, she notices that Lance doesn’t offer his hand, just waves and gives her a nod. “Charmed,” she says. “So you’re the new owners?”

“That’s right.” Coulson sounds almost sheepish. “I hope it’ll be a smooth transition. I’m sure we can count on you to help us with that?”

“I’ll do what I can,” says Melinda diplomatically.

“She’ll take care of you,” Fury adds. Melinda restrains herself from rolling her eyes. Not that she blames him for bowing out, but the circumstances surrounding it are less than thrilling.

“Well, since you’re here now, maybe you could show us around a bit. The grand tour and whatnot,” says Hunter.

“That’s a good idea,” says Fury, and it doesn’t sound like a suggestion.

Melinda allows herself the faintest sigh and the slightest narrowing of her eyes when she looks at Fury and replies, “Very well. Come with me, you two.”

She first takes them past the practice rooms, which are of course unoccupied at the moment, but nevertheless they _ooh_ and _ahh_ over them. They walk past the dressing rooms, which Hunter looks mildly intrigued by before she says sternly, “You won’t be going in there for _any_ reason,” and he looks chastised but moves on without comment.

Eventually, her impulses get the better of her and she says casually, “So, I hear that you and Fury made a good bargain for this place.”

Coulson coughs, Lance splutters, and finally Coulson stammers out, “Well, er, it was...it was sort of complicated.”

“I can handle complicated.”

Coulson turns an interesting shade of pink and says after a moment, “My partner, ah, was playing cards with Mr. Fury and he won the opera house unexpectedly.”

“I didn’t run out of money or anything,” adds Hunter, too quickly for it to be convincing. “I just thought playing for land might be more interesting.”

“Ah-huh.” Melinda nods. Fury had told her the same story, albeit with quite a bit more amused disdain for the idiots he’d managed to pawn the opera house off on. “Well, he has been wanting to retire for a while.”

“Understandably,” says Coulson, looking relieved that the conversation has moved on from Hunter’s gambling exploits. “We hope to be worthy successors.”

“I hope that as well,” replies Melinda evenly. “And here is the theatre itself.” She opens one of the grand doors and gestures inside. There’s a rehearsal going on, and she keeps them in the back for now.

“Damn,” murmurs Hunter. “Er, apologies.”

Melinda shrugs. “I’ve heard far worse.”

“The chandelier is breathtaking,” remarks Coulson.

“Oh, yes, everyone says that,” Melinda says. “And as the owners, you’ll have exclusive access to your own box for performances.” She gestures vaguely in the direction of the box that used to be Fury’s. “The others are owned by various patrons of the theatre, but no one ever sits in Box Five. That’s where the…” She pauses, sighs, and allows herself the eyeroll this time. “...the Opera Ghost sits.”

Hunter looks startled. “I thought that was just a myth.”

“It’s…” Melinda pauses. “We keep Box Five open for him and pay him a monthly salary. It seems to keep things running smoothly.”

Coulson furrows his brow. “What happens if you don’t?”

“Nothing you want to see,” Melinda says firmly, hoping this will deter further questions.

It doesn’t. “So, let me get this straight,” says Hunter. “There’s a bloke, or a spirit, or something, that’s allegedly haunting this place, and you can’t just hunt him down or chase him out?”

“It’s not that simple,” Melinda says. “The Ghost - he knows the opera house better than any of us. We’ve tried to trap him, chase him down, trick him, to no avail.”

“So you just pay him the money and let him watch the shows and _hope_ he doesn’t decide to get nasty for no reason?”

“We find that if we don’t, he becomes very agitated and dangerous,” explains Melinda. “If you can come up with another solution, I’d be interested to hear it.”

“This isn’t really a ghost, though,” Hunter presses. “If it was, that wouldn’t be dangerous. Ghosts are just a bit of wind or something, they can’t really do anything.”

“Ghost or not, he’s caused enough trouble around here that Fury felt it was best to placate him.” Melinda tilts her head. “I’d advise against risking the lives of the performers just to prove a point.”

“Alright, alright,” grumbles Hunter. “So, rest of the tour, then?”

“Yes,” Melinda says, guiding them closer to the stage. “The chorus is working right now-” she nods at the stage “-and the leads will come out soon. Leopold and Raina have been with us for a while, and this is only their third show as leads, but they’re very talented and hard-working.”

Coulson nods. “So far it seems lovely.”

After a minute or so, a thin, pale, curly-haired boy comes onstage and sings a solo, soon followed by a darker-skinned woman with large eyes and striking features. “She’s not hard on the eyes,” remarks Lance.

Melinda snorts. “Raina is a lovely girl,” she concedes. “And her voice is excellent.”

Lance raises an eyebrow. “Don’t suppose you’d be willing to introduce us?”

“Perhaps, very briefly.” Melinda narrows her eyes. “You’ll meet them all, soon enough. They’re all _very busy_ with daily rehearsals and such.”

Hunter tosses his head. “Fine, fine. The boy’s pretty good too.”

Coulson nods. “You said he’s only starred in a few shows before?”

“Yes. We don’t have many male performers, but there are enough.” Melinda gestures to the various elements of the rehearsal. “The orchestra is there in the pit, and the ballet is about to enter.” Sure enough, a small group of ballerinas enter and begin their part of the performance.

“Who’s that tall one in the back?” Hunter asks.

“That’s Barbara,” says Melinda, sounding slightly wary. “She’s been here almost her entire life.”

“And that one?” Hunter points at a petite brunette near the front.

“That’s Jemma. She’s much newer, but picked it up quickly. She’s always precise.”

“What about the dark-haired one in the front, there?” Coulson asks. He seems like he’s asking for more noble reasons than Hunter.

“Oh, that’s Daisy. She’s the daughter of Jiaying, the famous violinist. You may have heard of her?” Melinda won’t be surprised if they haven’t.

“I saw Jiaying play once,” Coulson says. “It’s a terrible shame what happened to her. Her daughter, hm? How did she come to be here?”

“Jiaying and I were friends,” says Melinda with the faintest shrug. “Daisy’s been here since she passed. She’s quite good, isn’t she?”

“I don’t know much about ballet,” admits Coulson. “But she certainly moves nicely.”

When the ballerinas exit, Melinda steps forward and calls for a pause in the rehearsal. Everyone turns to look at her. “Attention, please,” she says. “These are the new owners of the opera house, Philip Coulson and Lance Hunter.”

Everyone turns their attention to them, and Hunter and Coulson give a vague speech about how thrilled they are to be in charge of the opera house (which is less convincing than they want it to be). After a few minutes, the doors to the theatre open and a blond man enters. He heads in their direction and Melinda, glancing over at him, says, “Ah, Lincoln. Come to see the rehearsal?”

Lincoln smiles. “Yes, I wanted to check up on the show’s progress. As you know, my family are great lovers of the opera.”

 

* * *

 

Melinda calls the rehearsal to a halt - she’s one of the only people who can do that, in truth, her and the conductor, the director, and occasionally the prima donna - and most everyone comes to gather downstage, excepting the builders still hammering away at the back, hoping to finish their work in time. Leopold and Raina are center stage, naturally, the former tugging on his false beard with a grimace and the latter fanning herself idly; the other singers are scattered about; the corps de ballet is clustered in front of the proscenium, most of them kneeling or sitting to give their feet a rest, however short.

She introduces the two men standing beside her as the new owners of the opera house and instinctively Barbara looks them over, frowning in judgment. “That one looks as if he’ll try to be a father to us,” she whispers, nodding toward the older man, “and the other looks as if he’ll try to win our favor in more amorous ways.”

Kara, who’s seated beside Barbara re-tying her hair ribbon, wrinkles her nose. “We don’t need fathers _or_ lovers, or at least I don’t,” she says softly.

“Maybe it won’t be so awful,” murmurs Hannah, the youngest and most innocent of the group.

“The only men that aren’t as awful as they seem are the ones who are worse,” Alisha says.

“I have one friend who isn’t so bad,” Daisy chimes in. “My mother often played for his parents and we became very close. We played together often and shared many secrets. He was a good friend to me.”

“Well, so that’s one, at least,” chuckles Elena.

They’re chatting amongst themselves, mostly oblivious to the new owners giving speeches, when the theatre door opens and a blond man enters the room. Daisy glances up at the newcomer, then widens her eyes. “Lincoln?” she whispers.

“Who?” Akela asks, tilting her head. “Do you know him?”

“Yes, I...I’m sure he’s the boy I was talking about,” Daisy says, blinking. “I haven’t seen him in years, but I’d recognize him anywhere.”

As he speaks, Jemma frowns and brushes her hand down Daisy’s arm like she wants to do more than that. “He’ll be here often, it seems,” she says, sounding not altogether thrilled by the prospect.

“I should see if he still remembers me,” Daisy says, almost idly. “We were so young…”

“I’m sure he does,” Jemma mumbles. “You’d be difficult to forget.”

Barbara raises an eyebrow, sensing (correctly) the cause of that tone in Jemma’s voice. “I’m sure we’ll find out soon enough,” she says.

 

* * *

 

The last thing Lincoln expects to see when he enters the theatre is Daisy’s face.

She’s older, of course, than the last time they met. They were only children. But he’d know her anywhere, and he’s never forgotten her. She’s even more beautiful than he remembered. He wonders how she came to be here, though of course he heard of her mother’s death - perhaps that had had something to do with it. Now that he’s found her again, he has to to talk to her. It must be destiny.

 

* * *

 

Antoine the conductor taps his baton and calls, “Alright, everybody, back to work. From Leopold’s entrance, please.”

The company takes their places, most of them whispering to each other until the orchestra begins playing and they’re made to actually get back to work. Leopold sings his verses, then Raina sings hers, or she begins to -

\- but one of the lights (luckily unlit) falls from the ceiling and lands just a hair’s breadth away from her side. Unsurprisingly, she shrieks, jumping back and accidentally into Leopold’s arms. Leopold, startled, automatically grabs onto her before realizing what he’s doing and quickly letting go. He turns an interesting shade of pink and steps away from her.

“Oh, look,” Kara drawls, nudging Barbara and rolling her eyes. “It’s the Phantom of the Opera.”

Coulson’s eyes widen. “ _Is_ it the Phantom of the Opera?”

Melinda sighs. “It isn’t the Phantom of the Opera.” She glances up at the catwalks and glares at James, who is meant to be patrolling that area. “You were supposed to be keeping an eye on things.”

James, who is notoriously lazy (and usually drunk), shrugs and calls down, “Sorry!”

Melinda rolls her eyes. “Let’s get back to work, everyone.”

Then a note flutters down and floats toward Fitz, who grabs it out of the air. “It’s a note!” he says. “It must be from the ghost!”

Melinda grabs it from him, looking annoyed. “It’s not from any ghost,” she scolds. But everyone looks at her expectantly, so she finally unfolds the note and reads it.

“He welcomes you to his opera house, and reminds you that his payment is soon due. And he asks that you continue to keep Box Five open for him, as Fury did.”

“If we know he’s in the basement, can’t we just go down there with pitchforks and make him leave?” Hunter asks.

Melinda shakes her head. “That won’t work. You’d never find him.”

“But-”

“Trust me. Fury tried before. It didn’t work.”

“They say he lives down there, because it’s a labyrinth that would make men crazy if they tried to solve it,” says Jemma, who believes in the ghost being a ghost even less than Melinda does but always feels compelled to share what she knows.

“He lives in the basement like it is his own personal hell,” adds Hannah, who isn’t sure if she believes in the ghost being a ghost but does very adamantly believe in hell.

“Was that all the note said?” asks Raina, who very much does believe in the ghost being a ghost but tries not to be afraid of him without specific reason.

“He’s requested we perform a different show for our gala tonight,” Melinda says, making an almost-sympathetic face at her. “He wants someone else to have a turn as the lead. He’d like to see _Tristan und Isolde_.”

“Oh,” Raina says, trying very hard not to pout in front of everyone and instead resorting to a rather put-upon sarcasm. “He isn’t pleased with my performance, as if the fallen light that nearly killed me wasn’t proof enough. Very well, I know when I’m not wanted. Perhaps I’ll visit Lorelei tonight, instead.” She’s fully aware that even though she says this in a seeming aside, as she slowly meanders off-stage, everyone is still paying close attention to her.

“Visit... _Lorelei?_ ” Hunter asks, eyes huge. He leans over to Coulson and murmurs, “There must be more than one…?”

Coulson rolls his eyes. “I don’t care to entertain the idea further.”

(Raina, by now in the wings, hears all of this and smirks. There might be more than one, but he’s correct to assume that his currently-errant prima donna is, in fact, speaking of the Moulin Rouge’s most famed courtesan. There wouldn’t be any point in having said that so loudly if she wasn’t referring to someone scandalous.)

“Anyhow,” Coulson says. “Can we meet his demands? Do we have anyone else who can sing _Tristan und Isolde_?”

“Actually,” says Melinda, “Daisy has been working on her voice. She can do it.”

Daisy looks alarmed. “I don’t know, I don’t know if I can-”

“Of course you can,” exclaims Jemma, grabbing Daisy’s hand unthinkingly. “You’ve been practicing, I know you have. And you mentioned you knew that score very well!”

Daisy smiles at her shyly. “I guess I do.” She looks at Melinda. “If you need me to...I’ll do my best.”

“It seems we do,” says Melinda, with the faintest smile. “You’ll be fine.”

Antoine, looking only a little rattled, turns to the orchestra and says, “Turn to ‘ _Mild und leise_ ,’ everyone, and let’s begin with that.”

Daisy, looking a bit nervous, starts singing the aria once the orchestra has begun to play. Coulson nods approvingly. “She’s quite good,” he says quietly to Melinda.

“As I said,” Melinda says, smirking.

 

* * *

 

“This has been a turn of events,” Hannah remarks, sitting and beginning to untie the ribbons on her ballet slippers.

“It has,” Elena agrees with a laugh. “Very interesting day.”

“I didn’t realize Daisy was so committed to singing,” Akela says. “I thought she was just filling time when she practiced. She’s good, though.”

Jemma colors, as if the compliment was paid to her instead. “She is,” she says softly. “I think she’s more dedicated than she’s willing to admit, because that way she couldn’t be upset if nothing came of it but since something has she, she’ll do her very best.”

“Oh,” exclaims Barbara, who’s currently brushing out Kara’s hair. “Has she told you much about this, then?” There’s a suggestiveness to her tone.

“Not much,” Jemma replies defensively. “Just that she’s been taking lessons. She always seems to light up when she mentions it, though. It’s beautiful.”

“Beautiful, eh?” Alisha interjects, smirking. “Have you told _her_ that?”

Jemma flusters and says nothing, so Elena raises an eyebrow and adds, “I notice the new patron seemed very interested in her.”

“Yes, well,” Jemma huffs, “she did say they had been childhood friends.” It’s clear that she doesn’t want to think about even such a long-ago acquaintance between them.

“Is that a hint of jealousy?” Kara teases.

Before Jemma can answer, Daisy enters. “What’s going on?” she asks, head tilted. “Who’s jealous?”

“Nobody,” Jemma says quickly. “Are you going to sing tonight, is it official?”

“Yes,” Daisy replies, giving her a nervous smile. “I’m not sure how well I’ll do, but I’m going to try.”

“Based on the performance you just gave, I think you’ll do very well,” says Akela.

“You will,” Barbara agrees. “I knew you could sing, but I had no idea you were that talented.”

Daisy rolls her shoulders, looking pleased. “Thank you. I’m still learning, I hope it’ll pay off tonight.”

“Have they fitted you for a costume yet?” Kara asks.

Daisy giggles. “Yes, and the sleeves are ridiculous. I don’t know how I’m going to move my arms or walk at all.”

“Price to pay, I suppose,” Alisha says airily. “At least it won’t be a hoop skirt. And at least you’ll get to wear normal shoes.” She rolls her eyes at the other ballerinas’ feet, because of course none of them really mind their pointe work (if they did they wouldn’t be ballerinas) but it can lead to aches at the end of the night.

“That’s true,” Daisy says, then hesitates. She hasn’t mentioned the mysterious presence in her room, who’s been coaching her at night...should she? But it might frighten them, so she opts only to say, “Thank you all. I don’t mean to take attention away from you…”

“You aren’t,” Jemma insists. “You’ve got an opportunity. You should get to show everyone how you shine.”

Looking pleased, Daisy grabs Jemma’s hand and squeezes it fondly before dropping it again. “Thank you, Jemma.” There’s more she could say, but it doesn’t feel right with the others here. There’ll be time for that later.


	2. my power over you grows stronger yet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daisy finds herself in unexpected company; everyone else deals with the aftermath.

After the gala, Jemma goes searching for Daisy. Backstage is too crowded, full of workmen moving backdrops and set decorations about, preparing for tomorrow’s rehearsal, and the dressing rooms and dormitories are too near anyone else in the company, but Jemma looks there anyway before she goes to the chapel. Nobody uses it as such, not really; the older denizens of the opera house have their own places of worship, or they attend proper church, depending, so Daisy’s made it a refuge, all candles and trinkets either stolen from or given by exotic patrons (she’s got a way for charming them, has since she was young) and a place where she can be alone.

Or alone with Jemma. Of late especially, that’s been true.

When Jemma finds her, she’s kneeling on the ground before the small portrait of her mother that she keeps, eyes closed, so deep in concentration that Jemma says, “Careful you don’t set that beautiful gown ablaze.”

Daisy looks up, smiling when she recognizes Jemma. “I thought you might come to find me,” she says, getting up and coming over to wrap her arms around Jemma. “I admit, I’m shocked I managed to keep this ridiculous dress in one piece during the performance.”

Jemma laughs, letting herself sink against Daisy for a moment. “You managed wonderfully,” she promises. “You did more than manage, you _were_ wonderful, full stop.”

“You really think so?”

“I do, and so does everyone else,” Jemma declares. “Everyone is talking about you downstairs.”

“I thought about going down to talk to them,” Daisy says, “but I wanted…” She pauses, glancing at the portrait of her mother. “I wanted to do this first.”

Jemma bites her lip. Daisy, more than the rest of them but her in particular, is sometimes overcome with this sort of family feeling. “I’m sure she would be proud,” she says softly.

“Thank you,” whispers Daisy. “I know it’s silly, but sometimes I feel like...like she is still here with me.”

“That isn’t silly,” Jemma murmurs, though she doesn’t try to counter it. She knows her own understanding of things, her own interpretations, tend to be much more rational, much more fact-based. Much less understanding of things like spirits and phantoms, ghosts and angels. But she understands, too, that thinking such can be a comfort, and she would never deny anyone that, but especially Daisy.

“My mother used to say that there was an Angel of Music that watched over us and guided us, and…” Daisy pauses, looking uncertain. “Can I share a secret with you?”

Jemma frowns, because of course she’ll listen but she doesn’t entirely know what to make of that hesitation. “Of course,” she says, reaching for Daisy’s hand.

Daisy sits down on the ground slowly, tugging Jemma to sit on the floor with her. “Well,” she says, smiling a bit nervously. “I’ve been visited by the Angel at night, and he’s the one who’s been teaching me to sing.”

“The Angel is a him?” Jemma asks before she can stop herself, sounding more disbelieving than she’d like to (but less disbelieving, honestly, than she feels).

Daisy shrugs. “It sounds like a him. I don’t know. Mother didn’t say, but he encourages me to practice my scales at night and he gives me songs to learn and practice. And you heard me tonight!” She beams.

“I did,” Jemma agrees. “You were wonderful. But Daisy, do you… believe?” She pauses, frowning with the effort not to sigh. “That he’s truly…?”

“I don’t know who else it _could_ be,” Daisy says. “Who else would hide in the walls and teach me to sing?” She looks puzzled. “My mother must have sent him.”

Jemma nods slowly. She can’t think of any immediate explanations herself, but… “So you’ve never seen him, not even a bit?”

“No, he doesn’t come out,” explains Daisy. “And even if he did, I don’t know that I could see him...he’s an angel.” She shrugs. “I haven’t asked him to. We’ve been so busy-”

“So he helps you with singing,” Jemma reiterates, “is that all?”

Daisy nods. “He’s never wanted to talk about anything else. Why?”

“I’m just… curious,” she says. “If this has been going on so long, why haven’t you said anything?” She tries not to sound put out about it, because of course Daisy is allowed to have secrets, she has no right to expect otherwise.

“He told me not to,” says Daisy, pursing her lips. “But you’re...you’re different, and I knew you’d understand. And what can he do to me if I tell just one person?”

“I’m not sure I’d like to know,” Jemma mutters doubtfully. Her mind is catching on the word _different_ , because she knows it’s meant well. “I promise I won’t tell.”

Thank you.” Daisy smiles gratefully. “Anyway. I suppose I’ve been up here long enough. I should go greet my adoring public.” She giggles. “Come with me?”

Jemma nods, privately grateful they’re back to less ephemeral subjects of conversation. “For as long as you’d like,” she says, not meaning to sound as serious as she does.

Daisy carefully gets to her feet, still holding Jemma’s hand. “I won’t keep you longer than you want,” she says. “I don’t know how long they’ll want me to parade around down there.”

“I’m sure everyone will want to praise you,” Jemma murmurs. Her gaze falls to their hands.

Rolling her shoulders, Daisy says, “You’re sweet, thank you.”

“You deserve that,” Jemma whispers before she thinks better of it.

Daisy leans forward to kiss her on the cheek. “I don’t always feel that way,” she says. “But thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Jemma says, and she’s glad that it’s not exactly well-lit because she’s blushing furiously. Hurriedly she adds, “Everyone who matters should be waiting for you in the lobby. Maybe someone will even want to take your picture!”

At that, Daisy makes a face and laughs. “I’m not sure I’d like that at all.”

“I only meant it would be an honor,” Jemma says, looking and sounding embarrassed. “But if you wouldn’t like it, I won’t let them.”

“Oh, Jemma,” Daisy says warmly. “You needn’t protect me, but I do appreciate that.”

“I know I don’t have to,” Jemma mumbles. “I just don’t like the thought of anyone taking advantage of your… of you.”

“Thank you.” Daisy squeezes her hand. “It means a lot to me, that you care so much.”

“Of course I do,” Jemma exclaims, squeezing back. “You’re my dearest, my dearest friend. I would do anything for you.”

“And I for you,” replies Daisy, eyes soft. “But come, we’d better go now. Or everyone will wonder what we’ve stolen away for,” she teases.

Jemma laughs, a little too loud. “Lead on,” she says, nodding vaguely toward the rest of the opera house.

After spending a reasonable amount of time downstairs, where a few people do indeed take Daisy’s picture (she doesn’t mind it as much as she thought she might) and many people offer their congratulations, Melinda calls Jemma away with the rest of the ballerinas. Once she’s spent a reasonable amount of time amongst the crowd, Daisy retires to her chambers, eager to remove her cumbersome gown. She’s in not much more than her undergarments when there’s a knock at the door. “Hello?” she asks, totally puzzled.

“Mazu?” the person at the door asks. “Tianfei? Goddess of the sea?”

Daisy blinks. “ _Lincoln_? Is that you?”

“I’d hoped you’d remember,” he says. “May I come in?”

“I’m not...well, I suppose for a moment.” Daisy opens the door. “I saw you from the stage.”

“And I saw you,” Lincoln says, smiling widely. “You were radiant, Daisy.”

Daisy laughs. “Well, thank you. I’d barely rehearsed the role, I’m glad I didn’t make a complete mess of it.”

“You did nothing of the sort,” Lincoln assures her. “I would never have expected to find you here!”

“I’ve been with the ballet since my mother died.” Daisy looks sad for a moment before continuing, “It’s wonderful to see you, my friend! And what have you been up to?”

He flinches just slightly at the word “friend,” then replies, “My family’s been around, you know. We’ve been patrons of this opera house for years, I can’t believe we never ran into each other. It seems fated!”

Smiling, Daisy says, “It does. I have missed you, Lincoln. We were such dear friends in childhood, and then I thought I might never see you again.” She leans forward to throw her arms around him.

He returns the embrace, though his smile is a bit less genuine. “I thought the same. I’m glad to have found you again, Daisy.”

Daisy nods. “And as for my performance, I have a bit of a secret to share,” she says, smiling mischievously.

“Oh?”

“Yes. Do you remember when my mother would speak of the Angel of Music? Well, he’s been visiting me and teaching me to sing!” Daisy beams at him. “Every night he teaches me. He says I’m very good!”

Lincoln wrinkles his brow. “The Angel of Music? A man?”

“He isn’t _really_ a man,” Daisy corrects, “but an angel. I think my mother sent him to watch over me and guide me. Don’t make that face, Lincoln,” she says, suddenly hurt at the wary expression on Lincoln’s face. “It’s true!”

Doubtfully, Lincoln says, “If you say so, Daisy.” Then he shakes his head slightly. “But what kind of reunion is this? We should go out to dinner, celebrate finding each other again!”

Daisy frowns. “I’d like to go, but the Angel is very strict about my lessons…”

“Surely he can spare you for one night,” says Lincoln, “especially after such a performance as tonight’s.”

“Well, I’ll have to put the proper clothes on first.” Daisy smirks at him. “You interrupted me just as I was changing, you know.”

He looks a bit sheepish. “Very well. Shall I wait outside for you, then?”

“Yes, I’ll be just a minute.” After he leaves, shutting the door behind him, she turns to the task of changing into an appropriate outfit.

She’s starting to unpin her hair when a new voice says, “Should you really be entertaining him?”

“Angel?” Daisy asks, eyes wide. “Is that you?”

“It’s me,” he says. “You don’t really have time to dine with him, do you? You need to practice. You still have much to learn.”

“I’m sorry,” Daisy says, ducking her head. “I thought it would be alright to have one night...didn’t you see me? Everyone loved it, I-”

“I did.” His tone is a bit gentler now. “But just because you had one good performance doesn’t mean you can rest on your laurels. Don’t you want to be as good as you can be?”

“Yes,” she says. “Of course I do.” Then, on impulse, she says, “Angel, may I see you? I’ve never seen your face, though you’ve seen mine.”

There’s a long pause, as if he’s thinking about it. Finally he says, “Very well. Since you have done so well tonight, I will allow you to be in my presence.”

“Thank you, sir!” says Daisy, beaming. “What must I do?”

“Look into the mirror,” he says, and when she does she’s shocked to see someone staring back at her, though he is partially covered by shadows.

Astonished, she walks closer to the mirror, reaching out as if to touch the figure in the mirror, and then the mirror parts and suddenly the mirror is gone and the figure stands before her. She gasps, mouth falling open, and she’s so shocked she doesn’t even notice that the room has begun filling with a strange smoke. “Hello, Daisy,” says the figure. “I am your Angel of Music. You’d like to come with me, wouldn’t you?”

She nods, stepping forward. She feels as if this might be a dream, but here is her Angel right in front of her; shouldn’t she go with him?

He offers his hand. “Come, Daisy. Take my hand.”

She takes his hand, and he leads her down the corridor. As they walk, she glances around and notices that all of the candelabras are moving along beside them, as if they are following them. _It’s like they know where we’re going,_ she thinks. And part of her wants to ask him where they are going, but she should trust him, shouldn’t she? He is her Angel of Music, and he has a plan. He won’t let any harm come to her.

He takes her down a flight of stairs, to where a horse is waiting - this somehow seems stranger to her than anything else that has happened so far - and he helps her mount it, though she is clumsy. Then he leads the horse on, stopping once they reach an underground lake that she was very unaware of. It’s strange; she should have known of that, she’s been in the opera house for more than a decade. He stops the horse and lifts her off of it, and they leave the horse behind and cross the lake in a boat. She wonders for a moment who feeds the horse, and whether it is well taken care of. But then she tells herself that the Angel would not mistreat it, because Angels must care for all living beings.

“This is my secret place,” he says, smiling at her. “I don’t bring people down here unless they are truly special.”

Eyes wide, she says, “Thank you for the honor, Angel. I will try to be worthy of it.”

“You are worthy of that and much more,” he says. “I’ve brought you here to show you the place where I work. My dearest dream is to have one of my operas performed in this theater.”

“You write operas?” Daisy asks, blinking.

“Yes. And I would be honored if you would star in them.” He gestures to the room they’re in, lit with what seems like a thousand candles. “Let me show you around. I want you to think of this as a place you are welcome.”

Daisy blinks again. Her head feels foggy, and she’s not sure what to say. “You have so many candles,” she says finally. “It’s beautiful.”

“I am inspired in this lighting,” he says. “Other lights are too harsh, they show too much. Here I feel safe and comforted.”

“Do you not feel safe elsewhere?” Daisy asks, frowning. _I thought Angels felt safe everywhere, because they are servants of God. I wonder...does this have to do with the strange mask he wears?_

He shakes his head. “It is only in this place that I feel truly safe. No one can find me here.”

“I’m sorry,” Daisy says. “You shouldn’t feel like you have to hide.”

“The world will never accept me as I am,” he sighs. “I have learned that.”

“But you’re an Angel,” she replies, confused. “It shouldn’t matter what the world thinks of you.”

“My family abandoned me!” he says, sounding angry for the first time since she’s met him. Then he calms a bit. “You are young and beautiful, so I don’t expect you to be able to understand.”

“Family?” Daisy shakes her head, trying to make sense of all this. “But if you are an Angel then...you came from God, and…”

“Even God may abandon those he deems unworthy!”

Daisy’s unsure how to respond to that, so she just says, “I’m sorry.” She glances around, hoping to see something she could mention to get his mind off of this-

-and then she sees a mannequin in one corner, on what seems to be a shrine. It’s wearing a beautiful white dress, a _wedding_ dress, and it looks strangely like…

“Is that _me_?”

“You don’t have to worry about that yet,” he says quickly. “Come, there’s more to see.”

But that does nothing to settle her, and the next thing she knows, she’s falling and everything goes black. The last thing she registers is the Angel catching her in his arms.

 

* * *

 

Lincoln waits outside the door for what he thinks is a respectful amount of time before knocking again. “Daisy? Are you ready to leave?” He knocks twice more. “Daisy?”

There’s no sound from within, so he tries to open it. He knows the door wasn’t locked earlier, but now it seems impossible to open no matter what he does. “Daisy!” he calls, trying not to sound anxious. “Are you still in there?”

He shoves his shoulder against the door, as if this will help. It doesn’t. The door remains shut.

 

* * *

 

“Where’s Daisy?” Barbara asks lightly. The other ballerinas are gathered in their dormitory, all halfheartedly preparing for bed though none of them can imagine sleeping yet, as energetic as they feel after the evening’s events. Barbara and Kara, it must be noted, have pushed their small beds together and are sitting in the middle of them, playing at grooming each other.

“I haven’t seen her since Melinda shooed us away from the reception,” says Elena. “Jemma, did you see where she went?” Her tone is just slightly teasing.

Jemma flusters. “I imagine after she and I parted ways, she went to get out of her costume,” she says, trying to remain calm. “After that…”

“I can’t imagine she went and got herself a fancy new bedroom on top of her fancy new role in the opera,” Alisha says. “Wouldn’t she have come back with us, eventually?”

Kara frowns. “Unless she was taken away by someone else, after? An interested… someone? Wishing to congratulate her, or…”

“Oh, if you want to say she went off with Lincoln, just say it,” Jemma mumbles. “You’ve all been perfectly comfortable noticing how he’s staring at her. You want to suggest he took her out for a drink? To a _salon_? Trying to win her over again, or…” She frowns, and abruptly turns away from the rest of them to step out of her tutu.

The other ballerinas all glance at each other, unsure how to react to this outburst. It’s not like Jemma to get so defensive about things, or so negative either, but then she’s always been protective of Daisy. It’s not such a surprise.

“It might not be that bad,” Akela points out. “They have known each other for years. Perhaps he simply wanted to reconnect with her as a friend.”

“But he’s a _man_ ,” says Jemma despairingly.

“It would be more proper for him to ask her to tea, in the daytime,” Hannah frets.

Barbara smiles, just this side of indulgent, at Hannah’s innocence, then says, “Daisy did speak highly of him. Maybe he’s not the most… mannish sort of man, maybe they are just talking.”

“Shouldn’t she have asked Melinda for permission to go out, then?” Hannah asks. “We should ask _her_ where Daisy is!”

“Ask me where Daisy is?” Melinda asks, entering the room just then. (She has an uncanny ability to appear just as someone is speaking of her.) “Do none of you know?”

There’s a wave of shaking heads, then, and Kara says, “We were hoping that you might.”

“I last saw her talking to one of the patrons downstairs,” Melinda says, frowning. “I wonder where she’s ended up.”

“Did you see who it was?” Jemma asks in a rush.

“No, I didn’t pay much attention.” Melinda smirks slightly. “It wasn’t Lincoln, if that’s what you mean.”

“I only meant, did they seem trustworthy,” Jemma retorts petulantly.

“I imagine so,” Melinda says. “Do you have reason to worry about Daisy’s safety?”

“Only that she’s disappeared without telling anyone where she was going,” Barbara says. “I’m sure we’re all just worrying for nothing. She can take care of herself.”

Melinda nods. “Of course.”

She seems about to say more, but is interrupted by James, the drunkard stagehand, ambling into the room lazily. “Good ladies!” he says, moving his arm in an approximation of a wave. “I hear we have been visited lately by the Ghost himself!”

“You were there,” Alisha retorts, rolling her eyes scathingly and flopping down on her bed. “You saw the note fall same as any of us. You didn’t stop him from dropping that light nearly on Raina’s head.”

James shrugs and grins. “How would I have stopped him? Or seen him? He’s a _ghost,_ he can be anywhere he pleases. Haven’t you heard the stories?” He takes a swig from his bottle and then starts half-chanting, half-singing, “ _Like yellow parchment is his skin, a great black hole serves as the nose that never grew, you must be always on your guard or he will catch you with his magical lasso!_ ” He pantomimes a throwing a lasso around the nearest girl, who happens to be Hannah.

And Hannah, of course, squeals, ineffectually batting her hands to get him away from her and making a face like she smells something bad (which she does, it’s the scent of too much alcohol and not enough bathing and it’s coming straight from James). “Stop that!” she exclaims.

Barbara and Elena are both ready to jump on him at a moment’s notice, if he doesn’t let her go (they’re all silently sworn to protect Hannah from the advances of men, but Barbara and Elena are the likeliest fighters), but Melinda steps in and firmly pushes him towards the door. “No more of that,” she says. “And don’t come in here again. You know better. This is a private room.”

“Oh, _private_ , is it?” James’ voice floats back as he’s being herded out. “Yeah, I know about some of the _things_ they get up to in there…”

Melinda closes the door once he’s shoved out and sighs. “Finish getting ready for bed,” she says to the others. “I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen again.”

“Thank you,” Kara says, biting her lip.

Elena gently puts an arm around Hannah’s shoulders. “Are you alright? I’m sorry we couldn’t step in sooner.”

Hannah gives a shaky smile. “I am,” she promises. “He’s not a very pleasant man, is he?”

“Are any of them?” Alisha asks with a smirk.

They all play and banter as they get ready to sleep, brushing and braiding each other’s hair, rubbing the sore muscles in each other’s legs, and by the time the last candle is blown out and everyone gets into bed, they’re all so contented that they sleep easily. None of them notice, or at least none of them say anything, when Jemma slips out of bed and wanders out, downstairs to the dressing room she knows was Daisy’s tonight.

Its door is open, which comes as a surprise, but she wanders inside. It’s filled with flowers and its smell is that of a too-strong perfume, but there are no traces of her friend, nothing amiss. That is, until she notices that the floor-length mirror is pushed aside like a door, revealing -

\- there shouldn’t be a corridor behind the mirror. That doesn’t make any sense. It’s long, narrow, and cold, with a few dead candles in sconces along the stone walls and more than one rat scurrying through the passage. She shrieks and her voice echoes, bouncing off the ceiling and walls, and then another voice says, “You should be sleeping.”

Jemma jumps, though she’s unsurprised to find that the voice belongs to Melinda. “How did you know to find me here?”

“I knew you’d go looking for her,” Melinda says, not unkindly. “Come on, Jemma. It’s late. She’ll come back.”

“Yes, but where did she _go_?” Jemma insists, following after Melinda but unable to keep from looking back at the empty hall. “And why is there a passageway behind the mirror here?”

“I’m not sure where she went,” Melinda says, glancing back to make sure Jemma’s still behind her. “And I don’t know why that’s there. I wouldn’t investigate it further if I were you. It might end badly, and we don’t need you disappearing too.”

Jemma worries her lip. “But she’ll return, she hasn’t really disappeared.”

“Of course she hasn’t,” Melinda says firmly. “She’ll be back. Now, back upstairs with me, it’s bedtime.”

 

* * *

 

When Daisy wakes, she’s in an impossibly deep, circular bed surrounded by red silk sheets and pillows. She’s still wearing her clothes, including her corset, and the first thing she notices after the bed is that she’s sweaty and overheated and that corsets are _very_ uncomfortable to wear while lying down. There are gauze curtains surrounding the bed, which doesn’t help her to figure out where she is at all. Her head is still a little fuzzy. “Where am I?” she murmurs, blinking sleep from her eyes.

She carefully climbs out of the bed, testing the ground to be sure there isn’t broken glass or any other hazards awaiting her. Then she emerges from the strange tentlike bed, looking around. She still has no idea where she is, though fleeting memories begin to come to her piece by piece about the night before…

Then she sees him, the Angel, playing his organ. Somehow she feels a bit safer, knowing he’s here with her. _Wasn’t he sad last night? He was upset about something. Maybe I can cheer him up._

She carefully approaches him, not wanting to startle him by appearing suddenly. _Maybe if I take off this mask, he’ll feel better,_ she thinks, reaching out for it. _Maybe he’ll be happy to know one person is thinking of his comfort._

No sooner has she removed the mask than the Phantom turns on her, one hand covering his face and the other flailing to keep her back. “How dare you!” he roars. “How dare you touch me like that!”

“I’m sorry!” she says, jumping back. “I didn’t know!” She’s still holding the mask.

He keeps the hand on his face there and moans, “I wear that mask to hide my face from the people who hate and belittle me.”

Confused, Daisy says, “I don’t belittle you! Let me see your face, please?”

“No! I am a monster!” he protests. “I allow no one to look at me in this state!”

“You’re not a monster!” she says. “You’re an Angel! How else would you have found me? You must be an Angel!”

“You know not what you ask,” he says. “I could never tarnish your presence by showing you my hideous face.”

“I don’t believe it,” insists Daisy. “You sing so beautifully that you couldn’t possibly have a hideous face. Please, let me see it.”

Finally, he sighs. “Very well. If you must run screaming, I will allow it, but you _will_ return to this place.” He slowly removes his hand, giving her a clear look at his face.

Daisy’s not sure what she’s expecting - maybe a face with no nose, like James teased them with when he’d had too much to drink, or maybe some kind of hideous scar. What she’s _not_ expecting is for the Angel to have a perfectly normal, and even somewhat pleasant, face, with sharp cheekbones and strong features.

“What?” she asks.

He scowls at her. “Are you _happy_ now? You’ve seen my true face, little minx, now cower before it!”

“I don’t see what’s so hideous about it,” she says, “You look quite normal to me.”

“To _you_ , perhaps,” he says. “My family treated me as an outcast because of my face. I didn’t belong with them, or _anywhere_ , until I found this sanctuary under the opera house and made it my own!”

She nods, still a bit shocked. “Very well,” she says, swallowing. “Thank you for bringing me to this place. I will return, ah, another time, but for now I think I’ll give you your mask back and take my leave.” She offers him the mask, smiling.

He snatches it back from her. “Go now,” he snaps. “I’ll send for you at another time. Lessons will be at the usual times. Leave me!”

 

* * *

 

Coulson enters the opera house, frowning and holding an envelope and the morning paper. He’s relieved to see Hunter inside, also holding an envelope. “It’s good you’re here early too,” he says. “Did you see the paper this morning?”

“No,” says Hunter, rolling his eyes. “I’ve barely had coffee. What’s the matter now?”

“Someone wrote about how Daisy disappeared last night during the reception,” Coulson says, pointing to the article in question. “And mentions that she was quite good, but that’s not the important part here. Who would know something like that, or think to write about it?”

Hunter shrugs. “Also, we’ll need her back if we want people to write more articles about how good she is.”

Coulson colors. “Yes, of course. Maybe Melinda knows something. Or maybe she went off with that patron, Mr. Campbell.”

“Yeah, maybe. Also, _this_ was shoved under my door this morning.” Hunter holds out the envelope, scowling. “Haven’t the faintest clue what it’s on about.”

“Oh, I got one of those two,” Coulson says. “Have you read yours?”

Hunter nods. “Something about blah blah blah give me my money or there’ll be consequences. I didn’t read it very closely. Like I said, needed coffee.”

“Oh, that’s interesting.” Coulson furrows his brows. “Mine was very complimentary of the gala and of Daisy, and then asked why we continue to cast Raina when it’s obvious we have much more talented singers in our company.”

“I wonder who _that_ could be,” Hunter says, rolling his eyes. “Not our very own Ghost, hm?”

Coulson’s about to answer when Lincoln storms in. “Who is responsible for these ridiculous notes!” he says. “And where’s Daisy?”

They both blink at him. “We figured she might be with you,” Coulson says. “But I’m guessing not?”

“No! I invited her out for dinner and waited outside her door, but she never came out and it wouldn’t open.” Lincoln sighs. “I tried not to worry, but if something’s happened to her-”

“Did you get a note as well?” Coulson asks, noticing the envelope he’s clutching.

“Yes, that’s why I came down here!” Lincoln pulls it out and hands it to Coulson.

“‘Do not worry about Ms. Johnson’s whereabouts. She is safely in my company and will have no further need of you. Do not attempt to see her again,’” reads Coulson. “Oh dear.”

Before any of them can add to this, Raina waltzes in, dressed to the nines in some floral number that seems not quite appropriate for this weather. “I leave you for one night and this happens?” she asks, brandishing her own copy of the newspaper. She seems more exasperated than angry, almost like she’s scolding them.

“Raina,” Coulson says, sighing. “I take it you’ve seen the article?”

“Obviously,” she retorts. “You discover Daisy only to lose her? To forces unseen?” She rolls her eyes. “I would think you’d keep a closer eye on her, make sure nobody…” She trails off, turning her critical gaze on Lincoln. “Seduced her or stole her away.”

Lincoln glares at her. “Seduced her away from...what? _You?_ ”

Raina flinches. “No,” she snaps, though given her faint blush there might be a hint of truth somewhere in the accusation. “Away from the opera house that she’s put so much of her life and passion into.” She turns to the managers, clearly not wanting to put up with any more of Lincoln’s suggestions. “I would spend more time worrying about the _stolen_ part, if I were you.”

“She’s not a vase,” Hunter points out. “I really doubt she’s been _stolen_. Wandered off of her own accord, maybe.”

“Well, this note doesn’t _sound_ like it was her idea,” Lincoln says, waving it for dramatic effect. “I think we should start a search party immediately!”

As if on cue, Melinda enters, with Jemma close behind her. “If you’re worried about Daisy, she’s resting now,” she says. “Not to be disturbed. She’s exhausted, but unhurt.”

“I made sure of it,” Jemma adds, nodding eagerly. She lacks any formal training, of course, but she’s the closest the opera house has to a doctor thanks to her penchant for reading medical texts in her spare time.

Raina nods, clearly pleased. “Good,” she says simply. “I’ll send something up for her, perhaps.”

“But why can’t we disturb her?” Lincoln asks. “I’d like to see that she’s alright for myself.”

“She had a long night,” Melinda says sternly. “She’s in no mood for _any_ visitors. She returned to the dormitory this morning and she needs to rest now.”

“Please,” Jemma says. “She needs to rest, and she doesn’t need anyone… investigating.”

“That’s all very well, but I’d certainly like to investigate a little more,” says Hunter, narrowing his eyes. “Where _exactly_ was she?”

Melinda shakes her head. “It’s not important right now.”

“Do you know where she was?” Coulson asks, frowning. “Does _she_ know where she was?”

“It’s none of your concern,” Melinda says. “She’s back, that’s the important thing. Now, unless you need me for anything else, we need to start rehearsals-”

“No!” says Lincoln. “I demand an explanation for this note!”

“We all got them,” says Coulson, a bit less aggressively. “Mine mentioned Daisy’s performance and Raina, Hunter’s mentioned a late payment, and Lincoln’ said that Daisy was with someone. Do you know who sent them?”

Melinda sighs. “I don’t have an explanation for you. It certainly wasn’t me. Anyhow, I would recommend that you pay his salary and-”

“What did it say about me?” Raina interrupts, folding her arms.

Coulson looks sheepish. “Well...it said that Daisy was very good...and that you shouldn’t perform anymore. Ah. As the lead, that is.”

Raina rolls her eyes elaborately. “And none of you thought to compare these notes to the one we received yesterday? The one from the Ghost, the one that also disparaged me?”

It’s not funny, or the content of the notes isn’t funny, but Jemma has to work to hide her laughter anyhow. None of these newcomer men seem particularly intuitive.

“Well...no, we hadn’t,” Coulson says.

Leopold, who wandered in sometime during this conversation, chimes in with, “But why would the Ghost want to disparage you, Raina?”

This is not the first time they’ve touched on such a subject, the two singers, and as such Raina’s tone is particularly cutting when she says, “Because, like so many others, he’s strangely offended by my African heritage.”

Leopold frowns. “But he seems to like Daisy, and she’s Chinese…”

“Brilliant observation,” Raina snaps. “It’s true neither of us are purebred Europeans, but there is a vast difference in the way that many men think of African women as opposed to Chinese women, and even the Ghost must once have been a man.”

Leopold wrinkles his nose like he’s not sure how to respond to that, and Melinda sighs. “Raina, you’d better go prepare for rehearsal. We can’t change tonight’s opera at this point, so you’ll be starring.”

Raina lifts her chin. “I’ll do that,” she says, starting up the stairs. “Give Daisy my well-wishes.”

“We’d best all go prepare,” says Coulson, over Lincoln’s protests. “Tonight’s an important night.”


	3. let me be your shelter, let me be your light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite warnings, the company proceeds with their scheduled opera. Things do not go according to plan.

“Attention, everyone!” Coulson calls, trying to bring the widespread chatter to a halt. This is only marginally successful until Melinda steps up next to him, and then everyone quiets down to listen to her.

Melinda clears her throat. “Tonight we’ll be performing _Faust._ Despite the... _events_ lately, it has been decided that Raina will performing Marguerite as rehearsed.”

Raina, who’s sat on a velvet chaise longue upstage with all the ballerinas fanned out around her, nods smugly. It’s nothing against Daisy, far from it in fact, but she does have more practice with some roles, and she’s worked hard to get where she is. Besides that, it’s not as if most operas only have one female role.

But then… then she notices the managers, wearing smiles that are even more smug than hers, and she’s struck with a thought. “Good of them,” she mutters, mostly to Daisy and Jemma since they’re nearest, “to prove that unlike the Opera Ghost, _they_ have no qualms with me.”

“Yes,” Jemma says warily.

“It wouldn’t warrant mention if they weren’t clearly pleased to prove themselves progressive,” Raina explains, nodding. “Those smirks. It’s a fair bet they’re more concerned with my feeling they approve of the color of my skin than of the quality of my voice.”

Daisy laughs, a bit nervously. “I’d like to think they were considering your talent above all else, because you deserve this, but...well. You may not be wrong.”

“And Daisy will be playing the role of Siébel,” continues Melinda. She glances at Daisy and adds, “I know you haven’t officially rehearsed this role, but you know it. You’ll be fine.”

“Thank you,” says Daisy, startled. “I’ll do my best.”

Jemma tries for a reassuring smile. “You’ll be wonderful,” she promises.

“And I’ll be there to help you along, if you’ve any questions,” Raina adds, her tone mostly fond but accidentally suggestive.

Daisy flushes and echoes, “Thank you.” Not sure what, exactly, to make of this, Jemma grabs Daisy’s hand. She intends to be comforting, not possessive, but - well. Who could blame her for the latter?

“And as for the male roles,” Coulson adds, “I think perhaps Alphonso should play the part of Méphistophélès, because he has the range for it. And perhaps Leopold for Valentin?”

Raina laughs out loud. To the girls she murmurs, “That’s telling.” To the rest of the company she says, in a challenging way that perhaps she oughtn’t, “Valentin is Marguerite’s brother, no?”

“Yes,” Coulson says, furrowing his brow. “And? I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

Raina casts a despairing glance at Alphonso - who is aware, as the other prominent cast member of African heritage, how casting him as the devil will appear to the audience - and then at Melinda, who usually circumvents foolish decisions like this. “Would it not be more logical for Alphonso to be Valentin, since I’m Marguerite?” she suggests, sidestepping the other problem in favor of the logical one. “Leopold and I hardly look related.”

Alphonso, obviously relieved, chimes in, “Yes, I’ve rehearsed Valentin more than Méphistophélès anyway.”

“Oh.” Coulson looks surprised, as if he hadn’t considered that. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. Perhaps Leopold could be Faust instead?”

“Yes,” says Melinda, nodding firmly. “That would be a good idea. Thank you for your input.” She’s implying, but not outright stating, that casting decisions are best left to her in the future.

Once the rest of the casting has been announced, Melinda sends them away to rehearse and then summons the ballerinas. “I’m sure some of you are concerned about this performance,” she says. “Your anxieties aren’t unfounded - I’m wary myself. But unfortunately, all we can do is continue as normal.”

“There _were_ letters from the alleged Opera Ghost, though,” says Barbara. “How blatantly are these fools of managers disobeying?”

“Well, the Ghost did want me to sing the lead role,” Daisy says. She bites her lip, unsure whether to tell anyone that the Ghost and her Angel are (she’s fairly sure) one and the same.

“It’s not as if Siébel is a small role, though,” Hannah says hopefully. “And Raina has already rehearsed Marguerite, so it’s - it’s not practical to change that. Surely he’ll understand?”

“He lives in the basement, terrorizes a company of performers for his own amusement, and pretends to be a spectral being so we stay afraid of him,” Kara replies archly. “I don’t think he’s a particularly understanding man.”

Melinda snorts. “No, he’s not. And, as I’m sure most of you already know, he’s not a ghost at all. I’ve seen him with my own eyes and I can promise that.”

Daisy tries to make an innocent face. That definitely confirms her suspicions, but she’s not sure how to bring any of this up at this point. “Does he really hurt people?” she asks, doing her best to sound merely curious and not frightened. “I mean, have you seen him hurt anyone?”

“Yes.” Melinda turns to look at her, and for a minute it’s like she can see all of Daisy’s secrets. “He’s not a good man, Daisy.” Then, to the entire group, she adds, “I can only hope he won’t choose to take it out on any of us tonight, since our managers decided it was a better idea to follow the original plan than err on the side of caution. But just in case, everyone be alert. And keep your hand at the level of your eyes.”

Daisy swallows. “May I be excused to get some water?” she asks. “Please?”

“Very well,” sighs Melinda. “Hurry back. We haven’t much time.”

Daisy nods and runs, not feeling any better even once she’s out of earshot of the others. The other ballerinas are left staring at each other, frowning, and after a moment Jemma asks, “Should I go and make sure she’s alright? May I go?”

Melinda nods. “Just for a few minutes.”

Jemma hurries to her feet and chases after Daisy, frowning deeply. She makes sure Daisy has seen her coming before she speaks, not wanting to startle her. “Is something the matter?” she asks softly. “Or - well, of course something is, but - might I ask what?”

Daisy sighs. “It’s complicated. I don’t know where to begin.”

“Are you ready to speak of whatever happened last night?” Jemma murmurs. “Where you were, or… with whom?”

“The Angel came to me,” Daisy begins hesitantly. “Or...well, now I know he was never any angel, he was the Ghost all along. And he’s definitely not a ghost, just a man. A man who looks very much like any other man, so I don’t know why he feels he has to hide… He took me to his secret place and told me I could stay there, but I was so frightened, Jemma.”

“His secret place?” Jemma asks, clearly alarmed. She reaches a hand out to touch Daisy’s shoulder, comfortingly she hopes, and considers what exactly to say next. “Did he… did he touch you in any way?” Any unwanted way, she means.

Daisy pauses, then tentatively shakes her head. “I fainted and then awoke in a bed, a lavish one, but my clothes seemed undisturbed. I think he merely wanted to ensure I was comfortable.”

Jemma frowns. _I’m glad_ seems the wrong sentiment for this occasion, although she is glad that Daisy wasn’t harmed; anything else seems too pressing, almost. But she can see that Daisy is still troubled, and perhaps talking through it will help. “Where did you go?” she asks instead. “Do you know?”

“I think perhaps beneath the opera house?” Daisy shakes her head again, slowly. “It’s - it’s strange, it all seems like a dream, and I don’t know exactly how I found my way back…”

“I went into your dressing room when the others were asleep,” says Jemma. “The mirror was - it was pushed aside, like a door, and there was a hidden passageway behind it.”

Daisy’s eyes widen. “Really? I...I might remember something like that. It’s all so muddled…I don’t know why I can’t remember anything.”

“Really,” Jemma agrees. “I was going to look and see where it led, but Melinda stopped me. Did he… you said he didn’t touch you, but did he give you anything?”

“Not that I remember,” Daisy says. “But the air was...it was as if there was fog indoors, it was very strange.”

Suddenly everything seems _very_ clear to Jemma, though it won’t to Daisy, and she sighs. “I could kill him myself,” she mutters, shaking her head.

“What’s wrong?” Daisy asks, startled. “I don’t understand.”

“I don’t want to worry you any further,” Jemma demurs, glancing at her feet.

“Jemma, tell me what’s going on,” insists Daisy. “I can handle it. I need to know.”

“I think he might have given you drugs without your knowing,” Jemma says. “I’m not sure, but everything you’ve said suggests it. My God, that he… he wanted total control.” Her hand slips to wrap around Daisy’s and squeeze, fiercely almost.

Daisy’s mouth falls open. “He- that- I-” She shudders, then adds in a small voice, “What should I do?”

“I’m not sure,” Jemma admits, sounding ashamed of it. “We… _I_ will keep you away from him. Whatever happens, I will.”

Daisy nods, then steps forward to lean against Jemma. “Thank you,” she murmurs. “I...I trusted him, and now…”

Carefully Jemma wraps her arm around Daisy’s waist and pulls her a bit closer. “Now you know not to,” she says, soft and not at all scolding. “And we’ll figure a way out of this once and for…”

She’s interrupted by a stern cough from Melinda, who’s entered the room. “Girls,” she says, sternly but not unkindly. “We have rehearsal.”

Daisy jumps. “Yes, of course,” she gasps. “I’m sorry, we were...we’ll be right there.”

“Come on now,” says Melinda, beckoning.

“Are you all right?” Jemma asks Daisy in a whisper.

“I will be,” replies Daisy, slipping her hand into Jemma’s. “Thank you.”

 

* * *

 

Despite everyone’s qualms, the performance begins that night as scheduled. The seats are filled, orchestra to balcony to boxes - even Box Five is occupied, despite any and all warnings. It’s not a comic opera by any means - it’s really one of the darker ones in the company’s repertoire, considering one of the main characters is quite literally the devil - and so it’s not as easy to read the audience’s reactions, but they do seem fairly engrossed.

They’re between the first and second acts when Daisy, in her new boyish costume, steps backstage and Raina, made up like a true ingenue, sees her and grins. “Very charming,” she promises, coming forward to lay a hand on Daisy’s arm.

Daisy frowns, slightly confused. “Aren’t you, um, _involved_ with Lorelei?” she asks. She doesn’t mind the flirtation, but she’s not sure how to respond to it if Raina’s attentions are meant to be otherwise occupied.

“That’s never kept either of us from appreciating beauty or talent where we find it,” Raina says lightly. “It’s no secret you’ve both of those in abundance.”

Daisy flushes. “Thank you,” she says, ducking her head and smiling slightly. “You as well.” She might as well be polite, and it’s true.

“I know,” Raina replies, smirking to show she’s teasing. “Are you ready?”

“As ready as I’ll be tonight,” Daisy says, swallowing.

“Well, at least you know it’s me and not you he has it out for,” Raina says. She still sounds like she’s teasing, but it’s less funny.

“I suppose,” Daisy says, snorting. “I’d prefer he didn’t have it out for _either_ of us, but I hope that perhaps he’ll allow tonight’s performance to proceed unhindered.”

“Perhaps,” murmurs Raina. She still believes that the Ghost is a ghost, after all, and she’s less sure of his motives. As such she adds, almost shyly, “Good luck, Daisy.”

“And to you,” Daisy replies.

Act two commences, and Raina and Daisy and Alphonso, have all made their entrance. No sooner have they done than there’s a gasp from the audience, and it takes everyone else a moment to realize that what has dropped down from the rafters is…

“Is that a _body_?” hisses Coulson.

“Bloody hell,” mutters Hunter. “What do we do? Bring out the ballet?”

Coulson opens his mouth to agree, then sees Melinda glaring daggers at him from backstage and says, “No, we should...offer refunds and send them away, and deal with the body.”

Downstage, meanwhile, Hannah and Kara have burst out screaming - Hannah from genuine shock, Kara from something less definable - and the rest of the ballerinas, who are currently creating the background cast of the scene, have stopped moving in accordance. “Is that _James_?” asks Alisha, sounding horrified.

“I think it is,” murmurs Akela. “What happened to him?”

Barbara swallows heavily. Unlike some of the girls, she’s seen a dead body before, but never like _this_ , so abrupt and ugly. “He was hanged, or strangled and then dropped, I can’t tell which,” she says, reaching for Kara’s hand.

“Now you see what comes of your disobedience,” says a loud, booming voice that echoes throughout the theater. “This man’s blood is on your hands.”

Hannah lets out a loud sob and turns to hide her face against Alisha’s shoulder; Akela and Elena lean against each other and share a grimace. “No, it’s not,” Jemma whispers. “It’s not any of our faults. We’re not the monsters who killed a man unprovoked.”

Coulson and Hunter appear onstage, having run there from their box once the commotion began (at the behest of Melinda). “Everyone, please remain calm!” says Coulson, putting up a hand for silence. “We would like to apologize for this most - terrible accident! And we will be offering readmission for the next show, but we ask that you please begin to exit the theater in an orderly fashion so as to avoid any further trouble.”

There’s a cacophonous outburst from the audience, at which point Hunter chimes in, “We need you lot to clear the room so we can make sure this doesn’t happen again. You’ll get into the next show.”

A few seem inclined to fight, but most follow his instructions and make for the exit. The ushers begin to herd the more belligerent members out, until finally only the employees and company are left.

“You think merely stopping the show will appease me?” says the voice, as the last few stragglers are leaving. “I will see that my star is featured, no matter the cost!”

Daisy lets out a sob and flees the room. Lincoln, who left his box as soon as the Ghost started speaking, calls, “I’ll go after her and ensure she is alright!” He follows her out.

Melinda comes over to the ballerinas. “Is everyone alright?” she asks. “Do any of you need anything?”

“Time, I think,” Barbara says, glancing around at the other girls. “We’ve… had a shock.”

“To put it mildly,” Kara adds, trying and failing to laugh.

Jemma’s eyes keep straying in the direction that Daisy exited and she keeps biting her lip, nervous and possibly trying not to cry. “You’re thinking of following her, aren’t you?” Melinda asks her quietly.

“I am,” Jemma agrees. “I know I shouldn’t, it isn’t safe, but…”

“Go,” Melinda says with a nod. “She needs you.”

“I’ll be careful, I promise,” Jemma chokes out, but she runs out without looking anyone in the eye.

 

* * *

 

Daisy’s quiet sobs on the roof are interrupted when she hears Lincoln calling, “Daisy! Daisy, where are you?”

Daisy wipes at her eyes and manages to call back, “I’m here!” She’d rather not, at the moment, but it would be unkind to keep him worrying.

In an instant, he’s by her side. “There you are,” he says, sighing with relief. “Daisy, what’s going on? What was the Ghost talking about in there, and why did he kill that man?”

In spite of herself, Daisy almost laughs. Why would he know about any of that? She hasn’t told him, and it’s too fantastical to expect he’s put the pieces together on his own. “It’s...complicated,” she murmurs. “I’m really alright, if you want to go back-”

“You’re crying,” insists Lincoln, “you’re _not_ alright. Tell me what’s going on, Daisy. I want to help!”

She sighs. “You mustn’t laugh, if I tell you. It’s unbelievable, but it’s all true.”

“I swear it,” he says. “I know you would never lie to me.”

She tells him, all in a rush because she worries if she doesn’t say it all at once, she won’t have the nerve. He seems most surprised by the fact that the Ghost is no such being, but a man of flesh and blood like any other. “So you see, James’ death is all my fault,” she whispers. “And he - the Ghost will do far worse if we don’t do what he asks!”

“Oh, Daisy.” Lincoln reaches out to rest his hand on her shoulder, and she allows it because she’ll welcome any form of comfort. “He’s a monster, and none of this is your fault. None of us knew what he was capable of.”

“I should have known!” protests Daisy.

“You couldn’t,” argues Lincoln. “You had no choice but to comply with the owners’ wishes. If anyone is to blame, the blame rests on their shoulders, but even they had no idea he would kill to get what he wants. He’s never been so violent, has he?”

“No.” Daisy sniffles. “And when he came to me at night...even when he had me below the theater, I never feared that he would hurt me.”

“I won’t let him hurt you,” Lincoln says quickly. “I’ll protect you.”

That makes her bristle, though she’s unsure why. Jemma told her the same thing, yet it didn’t make her feel nearly so defensive. Then again, her feelings for Jemma are...different than her feelings for Lincoln. “I don’t need protecting,” she says, “but thank you.”

“I think you do,” he says, not unkindly. “Your pursuer seems unlikely to give you up without a fight, and you’ve been unable to elude him before.”

“Yes, but I didn’t _know_ I needed to elude him,” she points out. “I thought he was my friend, my teacher. Now that I know what he truly is, I can come up with a plan to outsmart him.”

“I don’t like the idea of you facing him all alone,” says Lincoln, frowning. “I want to take care of you, Daisy.”

“It is appreciated,” Daisy says, “and you know that I care for you, as my oldest friend. But I do not need to be _taken care of._ ”

Lincoln frowns. “But surely you know of my feelings for you.”

She nods. “And while I treasure you as my dear friend, I’m afraid I do not return those feelings.”

He sighs and stands up, removing his hand from her shoulder. “Come back down with me?” he pleads. “I don’t like to think of you up here all alone.”

Jemma steps out of the shadows, seeming at once shy and defiant. “She’s not alone,” she says. “I’m here with her, if she wants me.”

Lincoln glances over at her, narrowing his eyes. “Well…”

“I’d like to talk to Jemma, please,” says Daisy. “Thank you for the comfort, Lincoln. You can go inside if you want to.”

With a last suspicious glance at Jemma, Lincoln nods. “Alright. I’ll be inside if you need someone else to talk to, Daisy.” Then he turns to go.

“What was that about?” Jemma asks, because she can’t stop herself.

Daisy sighs. “Lincoln’s decided he’s in love with me, I think. He never said the words, but he said enough.”

“Oh.” Somehow Jemma both is and isn’t stunned all at the same time. “But you aren’t happy about this.”

“I don’t know. I don’t want to hurt him; I do care for him. Just not in the way he cares for me.” Daisy shakes her head. “But even before learning the truth about the Ghost, I don’t think I could ever have loved Lincoln, or any man.”

Jemma comes closer, reaching for Daisy’s hand. “I’ve never felt I could, either,” she whispers. If she sounds unsure, it’s only because she hadn’t figured on this being the conversation they would have.

“Really?” murmurs Daisy. “I thought...I mean, I wasn’t sure if…”

“If what?” Jemma asks.

“If you could feel the same way.” Daisy can’t meet her gaze. “And there’s been so much going on, with the Ghost and the performances, that I didn’t dare to hope it was true.”

Jemma frowns, concerned. “I didn’t dare, either,” she says. “You’re… you awe me.”

Daisy blushes. “Thank you,” she replies. “I know this isn’t the time, with James dead and everyone so on edge, but I...I wanted you to know in case the worst happens.”

“The worst _won’t_ happen,” Jemma insists, tightening her grip on Daisy’s hand. “I, I won’t allow it.” The protestation sounds weak even to her own ears, but she means it.

That makes Daisy laugh, but not unkindly. “Thank you,” she repeats. “It’s strange, Lincoln wants...he said he wants to protect me, and I bristled at his words, but when you say such things I don’t mind at all.”

“It’s because I don’t think you’re fragile,” Jemma mumbles, rolling her eyes. “I assume. I don’t doubt that he means well, but it seems he sees you as some delicate thing that needs careful handling, or else you’ll become a victim. I don’t think that. I just know that what’s going on is so far from what any of us are prepared for, so strange - it’s dangerous, and I want to help keep you from danger, but I know you will help keep yourself from it too.”

Nodding slowly, Daisy says, “I think you’re right. Thank you for - well, for not thinking of me that way. I know I seem foolish, but I am not so delicate.”

“Of course,” Jemma says. “I know that. I know how strong you are, how resilient. You were taken advantage of by one horrible man, who you had no reason not to believe, who preyed on your fantasies. It could happen to anyone.”

Daisy sighs and leads forward to touch her forehead to Jemma’s. “That’s true, I suppose.” She pauses, and then softly adds, “And what I said before, I really meant it. I wanted you to know in case of the worst, but also because, well, you’re wonderful.”

“Thank you,” Jemma murmurs, and without thinking her free arm wraps around Daisy’s waist. “You… you’re wonderful too. I mean it.”

Nestling against Jemma, Daisy sighs again, but happily this time. “May I kiss you?” she asks. “I’ve often dreamed of that.”

“Oh!” Jemma blinks, clearly taken aback though she knows she shouldn’t be. “Please. I… I’ve wanted that longer than I can remember.”

Daisy leans forward to press her lips to Jemma’s, gently at first. She hums happily and slips her arm around Jemma’s shoulders.

“ _Daisy,_ ” Jemma whimpers, her eyes fluttering shut.

“Hm?” Daisy murmurs against her lips, smiling before leaning back just slightly. “Did you like that?” she teases.

“Yes, very much,” replies Jemma, laughing softly. “I would like much more of that, as much more as you want to give.”

“Everything,” says Daisy. “You can have all of me, Jemma.” She kisses her again, more urgently this time.

Jemma is eager to return the kiss, eager and just as urgent, but after a moment she breaks away and very breathlessly says, “Inside - perhaps?”

“Yes, of course.” Daisy laughs. “Someone will be worried, I’m sure, especially after...well, we’d best go back inside and see what Melinda wants us to do.”

“Yes,” Jemma echoes, though it sounds almost reluctant. “I… I would rather we didn’t stay around the others too long, though.”

“Agreed,” says Daisy, eyes gleaming. “I’d like very much to get back to kissing when we can.”

“Then we’ll be quick, finding them,” Jemma promises. “After you?”

Daisy squeezes her hand and then starts to walk toward the door back into the opera house. “Thank you,” she says, pausing to smile over her shoulder at Jemma. “For coming after me.”

“How could I do anything but?” Jemma asks. “After what happened, what he said, I… I knew I shouldn’t leave you alone.” She pauses for a moment before adding, earnestly, “I didn’t want you to _feel_ alone. And I didn’t want you to feel guilty.”

“I couldn’t feel alone after you were with me,” replies Daisy, leaning in for one more quick kiss.

Jemma smiles, but hesitantly. “And the other thing?” she asks.

Daisy frowns for a second. “I do, a bit, but I know I’m not truly to blame. And I’m going to do everything I can to ensure he won’t hurt anyone else.”

“Good,” Jemma declares, soft but resolute. “Because you’re not. His saying that… I’ve no doubt he _wants_ you to feel guilty, wants all of us to, because then we blame ourselves instead of him, which makes us not trust ourselves and at the same time fear him. He’s just trying to manipulate you, manipulate us, because he feels he’s owed… something.”

“You’re probably right.” Daisy sighs. “Thank you, Jemma. I think...when I saw him, he wore a mask that covered part of his face. He screamed at me when I pulled it off, but I didn’t see anything wrong with his face at all. I don’t understand why it upset him so much, but I think it might have to do with why he behaves this way.”

Jemma nods, thoughtful. “He could be hiding from something, someone,” she says. “Did he say anything about where he came from? Who he was before he decided to lurk in our basement?”

“No.” Daisy shakes her head. “I asked him about his family, if he had any, but he wouldn’t answer me.”

“Hm,” Jemma says, frowning. “How odd. It wouldn’t truly excuse any of his behavior, of course, but knowing might explain it somewhat. But we can stop him regardless.”

“I hope so,” replies Daisy.

Once they’re inside the opera house, it’s easy enough to find Melinda and the others, still gathered in the theater. “There you are,” Melinda says. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes,” Daisy says. “Er, well, enough. And James…?”

“The stagehands removed the body,” Melinda says. “We will hold a memorial of sorts later, once all this...business with the Ghost is sorted out.”

“I hate that, calling him that,” Jemma mutters. “He’s not a ghost and we all know it.”

“That’s true,” replies Melinda, not unkindly, “but it’s the easiest way to refer to him, since we don’t have another name.”

“I can think of some names for him,” snarks Elena.

“ _Anyway_ ,” Melinda says, “now that we’re all here, is everyone feeling up to one more runthrough?”

Daisy coughs. “Actually, Melinda, I’m still feeling quite tired,” she says, putting on the most convincing face possible. “Could I go and lie down awhile?”

“I could escort her,” Jemma offers. “If that’s all right?”

Oblivious to the smug way Barbara nudges Kara, Melinda sighs. “Alright, very well. I suppose it’s unwise for any of us to travel in the opera house alone. We’ll do it without the two of you once and then with everyone in the morning.” The look she gives Jemma somehow manages to convey that she knows exactly what Jemma’s doing.

“Thank you,” Daisy says, grabbing Jemma’s hand.

So they set off for the dormitory, both of them smiling secretly, and Jemma murmurs, “I do think it’s wise for us to stick together, too, and Melinda clearly understands that. But I’m also glad of the excuse it provides.”

“As am I,” says Daisy with a giggle. “Being alone with you is very nice.”

“It is,” Jemma says. “We could push our beds together, as Kara and Barbara have done.”

“Oh, that’s a good idea! You’re brilliant,” says Daisy fondly.

Jemma’s shoulders roll and she hums with pleasure. “Thank you,” she says. “If it is not too forward, I must say I welcome the thought of sleeping beside you.”

“Not at all,” murmurs Daisy. “That sounds wonderful.”

They reach the dormitory and Jemma pushes the door open, beaming. “Let’s hurry,” she says. “I would like to make the most of this time.”

“Excellent,” Daisy says, tugging her inside with a playful grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Faust was chosen not because it's in the novel but because of the role types.


	4. look around, there's another mask behind you!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The owners throw a masquerade, which everyone assumes will go according to plan. (It doesn't.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Caroline" Hannigan is Callie Hannigan from 1x12, name slightly altered for the period.

“We’ve had quite a turnout,” Coulson remarks to his date, Audrey, who is the lead cellist in the orchestra, as he helps her out of the horse-drawn carriage.

She pulls down her mask, adorned with fleur-de-lis designs, and nods. “I imagine everyone is excited to see the opera at its most sociable,” she agrees.

“I think this masquerade will be just the thing to cheer them, after the horrible things that have happened lately.” He glances around, then sees Hunter with his date, Caroline Hannigan, nearby. “Lance!” he calls, waving. “You look...interesting.”

Hunter, who is wearing a skeleton costume, laughs. “You too. A sheep, eh?”

“A ram,” corrects Coulson with a laugh. “I’m glad so many are showing up.”

“Yeah, I’d say this is going pretty well so far.” Hunter slips his arm around Caroline’s waist.

Caroline, who is the younger daughter of one of the more prominent families that holds a box at the opera house, gives an anxious giggle and fusses with her harlequin-printed gown. “We’ve only just gotten here,” she says.

“Welcome,” Coulson says, smiling. “Shall we go inside?”

“It would seem the thing to do,” replies Audrey.

Inside, the opera house is lavishly decorated for the masquerade, and dancers everywhere are wearing costumes to fit the theme. Surprisingly, or maybe not so surprisingly at all given that she’s high society and used to balls, it’s Caroline who seems the least awestruck by the surroundings, but that’s not to say she isn’t appreciative, as are the others.

“Well, I guess we threw this together pretty well,” says Hunter, smirking proudly. “Wouldn’t you say?”

Coulson nods. “It’s lovely.”

A serving man comes by with a tray of champagne, and they each take one. “To the opera!” Coulson says, lifting his glass.

“Indeed,” says a woman’s voice behind them. It takes everyone a moment to place her, given her intricate, sparkling black mask and the matching paint on her lips, but then she flashes one of her signature (and slightly unnerving) wide smiles and they all know her to be Ophelia, one of their mezzo sopranos.

Leopold, on her arm, nods. “Coulson, Hunter,” he says, nodding at them.

“Evening, Leopold,” replies Coulson with a smile. “You two are looking very...nice.”

“I do so appreciate a chance to get dressed up,” Ophelia says, still smiling herself. “We make quite a pair, don’t we?” She nods to Leopold, slightly possessive.

Hunter cocks his head. “If you don’t mind me asking, what are the two of you supposed to be?”

Leopold flushes, and says, “Well, I’m the, er, Sun King, and she’s-” He glances at Ophelia, clearly hoping she’ll explain.

“The Queen of the Night,” she drawls, blinking coyly.

“Very well-made,” says Caroline, nodding to both of them. “And very beautiful.”

Ophelia laughs, just once. “Thank you, sweet thing,” she murmurs. To Leopold she says, “Perhaps we should take a turn about the dance floor, hm?” It’s not actually a suggestion.

“Alright,” says Leopold, allowing himself to be led away.

Hunter makes a face. “Well, that girl’s got just a touch of the terrifying about her, doesn’t she.”

“She’s very… unique,” Audrey agrees. It’s her experience that many performers can tend toward dramatic extremes, so she’s not as wary, but she understands why someone would be.

Just then, Raina materializes at Hunter’s side, eyes shining. There are red roses randomly placed on her bodice and voluminous tulle skirt, and she’s hand in hand with the same famous courtesan she alluded to on her managers’ first day at the opera. Lorelei, for her part, is dressed as some sort of classical goddess.

“Good evening to you,” Raina hums.

Startled, Coulson says, “Um, yes, and to you. It’s...Lorelei, isn’t it?” He eyes Raina’s date a bit suspiciously.

“It is,” Lorelei hums, holding out her free hand with the clear expectation that someone kiss it.

Coulson and Hunter glance briefly at each other, then Hunter presses a quick kiss to Lorelei’s hand, like maybe he expects if he doesn’t she’ll turn him into something unpleasant. “Very nice, ah,” he says, waving his hand in her general direction. “Costume.”

“Thank you,” the two women chorus, as if the compliment was for both of them.

“You aren’t a part of the company, are you?” Caroline asks Lorelei, head canted.

“No, sugarplum, I’m not,” Lorelei says, clearly amused. “I daresay we run in very different circles.” Or not _so_ different, considering how many of her clients are wealthy men the sort of whom have likely dined at the Hannigan mansion, but there’s no need to startle the girl.

“We haven’t missed anything interesting, have we?” Raina asks. “Time just slipped away from us somehow.” She smiles mischievously at Lorelei.

“No, we’ve all just arrived ourselves,” says Coulson, still caught off-guard. “We were, I suppose, going to dance soon?” He glances at Audrey, as if to confirm this.

“As soon as our champagne is gone,” Audrey agrees, finishing off her own glass. “So, very soon indeed.”

“How about it?” Hunter asks Caroline with a playful grin. “Dancing?”

“Yes, please,” Caroline says, and with that the four of them join the crowd.

 

* * *

 

“Have a good time,” Melinda says to the group, “but don’t get too carried away. Remember, the Ghost also wears a mask, and we can’t assume he won’t show up tonight. I don’t want any of you getting hurt.”

“Given that the Ghost _does_ wear a mask, why did our noble managers think this would be a good idea?” asks Barbara, who despite her skepticism clearly enjoyed dressing up (a fearsome lady pirate to Kara’s tavern maid).

Melinda snorts. “It’s beyond me to explain their minds. But here we are, we should enjoy ourselves while we can.”

Daisy grins and squeezes Jemma’s hand. She’s wearing a flowy robe and a crown, the best approximation she could create of the beautiful illustrations of the goddess Mazu in her mother’s books. “I’m excited,” she whispers in Jemma’s ear. “Tonight, it will be as if we are _really_ engaged.”

Jemma bites her lip to hide her smile. Her costume is really just a pale purple gown and delicate fairy wings she borrowed from the costume shop, but it’s pretty enough, and besides, she isn’t looking to catch any eyes when she’s already caught the ones that matter most. “It will,” she murmurs. “As if I could tell the whole world that I’m yours.”

Daisy brushes her lips against Jemma’s cheek. “I’d like that so much.”

“As would I,” Jemma agrees. “I can think of nothing sweeter.”

Elena, wearing a dress swirled with color like a peppermint, nudges Daisy gently. “Melinda just asked you a question,” she says, seeming amused.

Daisy colors and glances up. “What? I’m sorry.”

Melinda snorts. “I asked if you’d had any contact with the Ghost since you returned home.”

“No,” says Daisy, shaking her head. “He hasn’t appeared to give me a voice lesson since...since that night.”

“And you’ve not had any signs or clues or… anything? From him?” Kara asks, eyes wide.

“I don’t think so,” Daisy replies, suddenly looking nervous.

“Then it’s even more important to keep watch for him,” says Melinda. “Keep your heads, everyone.” She glances sternly at Daisy as she says the words.

“We _know_ ,” says Alisha impatiently, smirking and shaking her head so her false antennas (she’s supposed to be a bee) shake. “May we be released to the party yet?”

“Yes, go on,” says Melinda, rolling her eyes fondly.

Daisy tugs Jemma away, grinning. “What shall we do first?”

“Dance, I think,” Jemma says. “At least a bit.”

“Alright!” Daisy leads Jemma to the dance floor, then puts her arms around her waist. “I can’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be.”

“Nor I,” Jemma says, resting her head against Daisy’s shoulder. “Here, in your arms…”

Daisy nods, taking the lead in the dance. “You look beautiful,” she murmurs.

Jemma hums happily, pressing that much closer. “Not so beautiful as you,” she says. “You’re one of your illustrations come to life.”

“Oh, you exaggerate,” Daisy says with a giggle. “It’s the best I could do on short notice, though.”

“No, I don’t,” Jemma says, entirely earnest. “You’re radiant, and though some of your details may be inaccurate you glow in such a way as to make up for it.”

Daisy smiles, then leans in for a quick kiss. “You’re sweet,” she says. “And-”

But she’s interrupted by a hand on her shoulder. “Daisy?”

She turns, frowning, then when she sees it’s Lincoln she smiles. “Hello, Lincoln!” She’s unsure how to treat him after their last encounter, but he is still her friend, of course.

Jemma, for her part, seems less enthused by his presence and especially by the interruption, but she does her best to be civil, stepping back slightly from Daisy so that they may talk.

“Hello, Daisy,” says Lincoln, smiling back. “You look wonderful. You’re Mazu, aren’t you? I remember the pictures in your mother’s book. You look just like them.”

“I was just saying that,” Jemma says brightly, the hand that’s still on Daisy’s waist clenching slightly. “Truly spectacular.”

Lincoln seems to ignore her, adding to Daisy, “I’d love to have you for a dance, if I may.”

Daisy, who definitely notices his dismissal of Jemma, frowns. “Well, I’m here with Jemma,” she says, leaning against her.

“If you _wanted_ to dance with him, once,” Jemma hesitates, frowning. She’s territorial, but she’s not outright greedy (although she very much wants to be in this situation).

“Please?” Lincoln asks. “Just one dance.”

“I suppose one dance would be fine,” Daisy says, a bit hesitantly.

Lincoln offers his hand. “One dance,” he repeats.

Daisy goes with him, giving Jemma an apologetic smile as she leaves. But she and Lincoln have barely been dancing for a minute when there’s a commotion nearby and a puff of smoke, and suddenly a familiar voice calls, “I see that you all decided to have a party and not invite me.”

Daisy freezes. “Oh no.”

Lincoln frowns. “What’s wrong?”

Sure enough, the Ghost is standing on the main landing of the staircase, looking down at them all. He wears a red cape along with his customary mask. “Well,” he says, “I have decided to repay your rudeness with another request. I suggest you remember the fate of the poor stagehand as you listen to my proposal.”

In their little corner, Kara clutches at Barbara; elsewhere on the dance floor, Caroline steps instinctively closer to Hunter. Audrey and Coulson seem equally alarmed; Raina has actually stopped grinning and Lorelei appears more surprised than anything, like she’d only thought this a myth; Ophelia eyes the Ghost warily and places a hand on Leopold’s shoulder as if to confirm his presence. Jemma, who swiped a champagne flute as soon as Daisy and Lincoln went off dancing, looks around to find herself closest to Melinda and casts a despairing look in the ballet mistress’ direction.

The Ghost produces a sheaf of papers bound with black ribbon from seemingly thin air and continues, “I have written an opera for you to perform, with the stipulation that Daisy must play the lead role. Leopold shall play the male lead, but be sure that he is prepared for the role; find someone to teach him to act. The rest of my casting decisions are to be found in the manuscript. I suggest you follow them to the letter.” He grabs the rapier at his side and points it at Hunter and Caroline who are nearest to him, and runs the tip teasingly across Hunter’s chest.

“Or else?” Hunter asks, sneering at him.

“I suspect you’d rather not add anymore bodies to the list?” the Ghost asks. Caroline, watching all of this with wide eyes, shivers. He steps closer to her and gently runs the sword along her arm, almost like a caress. “Take care, my dear, not to get mixed up in affairs in which you have no business,” he says.

“I just came to a party, that’s all,” she whispers, looking horrified.

“Indeed, and what a lovely party it is,” he says, glancing around. “Your hosts think themselves very clever indeed. Far too clever, in fact.” Then his gaze falls on Lincoln. “And you, _you_ think yourself worthy of her? I assure you, you are not.”

Lincoln glares and seems about to say something, but before he can, Daisy steps away from Lincoln, toward the Ghost. “Why are you _doing_ this?” she asks, sounding angry.

“Because, my dear,” he says, “I will do whatever it takes to have you.” He glances around at everyone else, then adds, “We will resume your lessons tomorrow night. _No one_ will interfere with them. My star must be ready for the show.” Then, with another dramatic puff of smoke, he disappears, leaving only the manuscript at Hunter’s feet.

Lincoln steps up behind her, putting a hand on her shoulder. “How dare he!” he says. “He has no claim on you!”

Daisy gently shrugs off his arm, nodding. “I know that,” she says. “I don’t know how to make _him_ understand that.”

“I’ll go after him!” Lincoln says. “I’ll make him understand!” He grips the hilt of the wooden sword he’s wearing with his soldier costume, as if he’s forgotten it isn’t real.

“If you must,” says Daisy doubtfully. “But I’m not sure that’s the best idea.”

“I must,” he replies, “for you!” Then he runs out of the room.

Everyone stares at each other for a long moment, then Coulson coughs. “Come now, let’s not dwell on the Ghost’s childish demands! Keep dancing, everyone!”

Jemma rolls her eyes at Melinda. “We’re out of good choices, aren’t we?” she asks.

Melinda sighs. “I’m afraid we are.” She coughs and calls, “Could I have all the ballerinas for a moment?”

All of the girls scurry over, Hannah accidentally nudging more than one stranger with her shepherdess’ crook, Akela moving somewhat awkwardly in her wide skirt. “What are we going to do?” Alisha asks, frowning.

“I’m not entirely sure,” says Melinda with a sigh. “This damn Ghost is going to drive me mad.”

Daisy comes up, the last to arrive. “I’m sorry,” she sighs, hanging her head.

Jemma immediately reaches for her hand. “Don’t be,” she says firmly. “He’s awful, but that’s nothing to do with you. None of this is your fault, Daisy.”

“Some men are just… this way,” says Barbara, who has the most authority on such matters. “They don’t like hearing the word ‘no’ so they act out when they do. This just happens to be an extreme case.”

“Bit of an understatement,” Kara interjects. “But really.” She pauses and reaches to pat Daisy’s shoulder. “We’ll sort this out, somehow. Melinda and the managers…”

“Melinda, at any rate,” says Hannah, who’s rapidly becoming disillusioned as this whole ordeal drags on.

“Will they really make us perform this ridiculous opera of his?” scoffs Elena. “Just because they are afraid of him?”

“I don’t know,” says Melinda. “If it were up to me, we wouldn’t.” She sighs again. “Damn him, making us all live in fear like this. I should have made Fury stand up to him months ago.”

“Would it have done any good?” asks Raina, who’s appeared at the back of the cluster of ballerinas with her date in tow. (She is not, nor has ever been, a ballerina, but she often winds up in their group since she’s of a similar age.) “Would he not just have lashed out earlier? Made us live like this for longer?”

“I don’t think so,” chimes in Daisy. “He’s thought this out. He was... _waiting_ for me.” She makes a face. “It seems it’s always been about me. He may have been waiting for me to be a bit older, or perhaps he felt that the new owners would create a vulnerability - either way.”

Jemma purses her lips. “He took advantage,” she says. “No matter how we think about it, he took advantage. If only we knew who he _was_.”

“He’s the Ghost,” Raina says, frowning.

“He looked like a man to me, my sweet,” Lorelei says, sounding as if she doesn’t wish to be the bearer of bad news but can’t help herself. “And men only have a few things in mind, really.”

“Indeed,” says Melinda. “He is just a man. A very angry, very dangerous man who must be stopped.”

“Has anyone thought to see if his behavior matches that of any known criminals?” Barbara asks. “I don’t know how much help the police would be, really, but have they?”

“If not the police, someone could check old newspapers,” Kara adds.

“Do you know, would you be able to guess, how old he is, Daisy?” Alisha asks.

Daisy frowns, as if thinking. “He didn’t seem very old,” she says. “I think maybe he wasn’t much older than me.”

“Maybe there’s a way to figure out who he might be,” Barbara suggests. “Knowing what little we do, and what we can guess.”

“Perhaps,” says Daisy, suddenly feeling overwhelmed. “Melinda, may I leave? I’m feeling…” She trails off, sure Melinda will understand.

Melinda nods. “Get some rest.”

“Also, Lincoln went after the Ghost,” adds Daisy with a roll of her eyes. “Please keep an eye out for him? And someone should go after him if he hasn’t returned within an hour.”

“I will,” agrees Melinda.

Jemma flashes a wan smile at the others. “Try to have some fun,” she says. “Don’t let him ruin that for you. We’ll be…” Upstairs, in the dormitory, which everyone knows. Gently she indicates for Daisy to follow her out of the ballroom.

Daisy does, and on their way out they pass Leopold and Ophelia attempting to waltz. It’s a comical effect, given that Ophelia is both taller and better at dancing, and Jemma has to stifle a giggle. “They’re odd together,” she whispers.

Snorting, Daisy nods. “Certainly not a pair I would have expected.”

“I wonder which of their ideas this was,” Jemma muses.

“I couldn’t begin to guess,” says Daisy with a giggle, since they’re out of earshot. Then she pauses and adds, “I’m sorry for...I don’t know. What happened. Not just the Ghost, but Lincoln too.”

“You didn’t make Lincoln behave as he did,” Jemma says.

“I suppose,” says Daisy, sounding doubtful. “I just...I love him, but I don’t like the way he acts as if he’s the only one who could ever have feelings for me. Or as if I feel the same way about him.”

“I don’t like it either,” Jemma admits, “but it doesn’t surprise me, or do more than annoy me.”

“But he was so _rude_ to you,” Daisy replies, “acting as if he didn’t even see you! I’ll have to talk to him about that, I won’t stand for it.”

“Thank you,” Jemma says, squeezing Daisy’s hand. “Really, I’ll be alright, but it does mean a lot to me that you’d be concerned.”

“Alright,” Daisy says. “But I’ll make sure he knows how important you are to me.”

They walk in silence for a moment before Jemma says, very softly, “I’m sorry too. That our night was ruined. You deserved something nice.”

Daisy shrugs. “There’ll be other nights. Besides,” she adds, a mischievous gleam in her eye, “there’s still time to make it a nice night.”

“Oh?” Jemma asks, though she has a good idea. “What did you have in mind?”

“Well, I’d quite like to kiss you,” says Daisy. “Where no one is looking at us.”

“It’s a good thing we’re nearly to the room, then,” Jemma murmurs.

“Indeed.” Daisy tugs her along, and once they’re inside the dormitories she leads Jemma over to her bed and gently pushes her onto it. “Is this alright?” she asks playfully.

Jemma bites her lip and nods, eager as anything. “Whatever you want of me is yours,” she whispers.

“First I suppose we’d best get our costumes off,” muses Daisy, removing the tiara from her hair and then sliding off her robe. “Would you like help with yours?”

“Yes, please,” Jemma says. She makes quick work of her mask and fairy wings, but the gown is laced up tight and rather more difficult, which she acknowledges with a faintly dismayed look over her own shoulder.

Daisy chuckles and comes to help. “Let me,” she murmurs, kissing Jemma’s neck before starting to unlace the back of the gown.

Jemma shivers with obvious delight. “Thank you,” she hums, tilting her head to give Daisy better access to her neck. “You’re very good to me.”

“I’d like to be,” Daisy murmurs, giving her a few more kisses as she keeps working with the laces. Finally, they’re all done, and she says, “There, that should be enough.”

Carefully, Jemma pushes the dress over her hips and steps out of it. “And as for this?” she asks, nodding to her corset and stockings.

“I suppose I’ll have to help with those too,” says Daisy with a grin. She starts unlacing Jemma’s corset next. She’d been wearing a simple shirt and trouser combination under the grand robe, so she has no corset to worry about tonight.

“I don’t know that I’ll ever have enough of your hands on me,” Jemma murmurs.

“I could say the same of you,” replies Daisy. “You’re so soft and lovely.”

“Thank you,” Jemma says. “I’d like to be, for you.”

Once Daisy’s finished unlacing Jemma’s corset, she says, “You can handle your own stockings, yes? I’ll finish undressing myself.”

“I think so,” Jemma giggles, beginning to do just that. “And now what would you have me do?”

“Now I think you should lay on the bed,” Daisy says, “and I’ll come kiss you.”

“As you wish,” Jemma says, arranging herself right beside, but not on, the line between their two mattresses. “How do you mean to kiss me?”

“I’ll start here,” Daisy says, getting on top of Jemma and then kissing her lips.

Jemma sighs into Daisy’s mouth, bringing one hand up to push hair back from Daisy’s face. “You’re beautiful,” she says.

Daisy hums. “You as well,” she murmurs, kissing her again.

“Thank you.” Jemma’s hand slips to Daisy’s shoulder, resting there tenderly.

“You’re very welcome,” whispers Daisy. They kiss for a minute and then she moves her lips down to where Jemma’s neck is and kisses it as well. “I wish I could leave marks here,” she says teasingly.

“I wish, too,” Jemma says. “To show I’m yours.”

“Yes,” Daisy says, scraping her teeth gently across Jemma’s skin. “Perhaps someday.”

“I’m sure there’s somewhere you could claim,” Jemma hums. “Where it wouldn’t get us in trouble?”

“Mmm, that’s true.” Daisy drifts down to Jemma’s breasts. “Here, maybe?” she asks, planting a kiss on the top of one.

Jemma whimpers, nodding. “Oh, please?” she asks. “I want to see you on me.”

“Of course,” says Daisy, gently biting down on the skin.

“Oh!” Jemma shouts. “Yes, yes, _please_ , Daisy.” Her hips are pushing up instinctively, as if there needed to be any more clues about her interest.

Daisy laughs. “Alright.” Then she begins to bite and suck at the skin, trying to leave small bruises.

For a minute, Jemma is lost in apparent ecstasy, just reacting to Daisy’s kisses and nips: letting loose more little noises, rocking her hips, pressing her fingers into Daisy’s skin, but finally she manages to ask, somewhat alarmed, “Is that all right? For me to..”

“To what?” Daisy asks, smiling. “React?”

“In the ways I’m doing,” Jemma explains. “You don’t mind my…” She shrugs. Any and all of it.

“Not at all,” Daisy reassures her. “I love them. I want to know I’m bringing you pleasure.” She leans down to suck on Jemma’s nipple experimentally.

“You are,” Jemma murmurs, biting back a wail. “God! That’s - you’re incredible.”

Daisy hums fondly, sucking for a minute or so before switching to Jemma’s other breast. “You taste wonderful,” she says.

Jemma blushes, all down her body it feels like. “I’m glad,” she replies.

Daisy takes her time kissing all over Jemma’s breasts. Then she looks up, eyes gleaming. “Should I move lower?” she teases. “Would you like that?”

The question startles Jemma for a moment; they’ve not had a chance to do - that, not yet. But she knows her answer easily. “I would,” she says, soft but resolute.

“Alright. Tell me if you’re ever uncomfortable, and I’ll stop.” Daisy leans up to kiss her on the lips before sliding back down and kissing across her belly.

“I promise,” Jemma whispers. “But I think I’ve wanted this a very long while.”

“Really?” Daisy asks. “I’ve thought of it but I didn’t dare to dream…”

Jemma nods, feeling somehow shy. “Perhaps even longer than I’ve known just what it was I wanted, I’ve wanted it,” she says.

“Thank you,” murmurs Daisy. “That thrills me.” She keeps kissing down Jemma’s body, slowly.

“I do so like doing that,” Jemma replies, suddenly breathy.

“You’re very good at it,” says Daisy fondly. “May I kiss you here?”

“Please,” Jemma says, not _quite_ begging but not far from it. “I want nothing else.”

“Alright,” Daisy whispers. She leans in and gently kisses Jemma’s center, then licks at it cautiously. She’s not confident of what she’s doing, but she wants to make Jemma feel good.

“Oh!” Jemma nearly screams, one hand grasping the bedsheets and the other grasping Daisy’s shoulder. “Daisy, I… please, please, more.”

Daisy hums. “As much as I like you touching me, I think we should play a game. How about you grab onto the headboard with both hands and see if you can hold onto it?”

Jemma’s eyes light up; she can’t help it, sometimes she likes being told what to do. Slowly she lifts her arms and grabs the rails in the headboard, then she glances down at Daisy. “What do I get if I manage?” she asks.

Daisy chuckles. “More kisses? If that’s enough of an incentive for you. I also think you should keep talking to a minimum, and try to be as quiet as you can. I’d love to hear your noises, but I don’t want the rest of the opera house to hear them.”

“Yes,” Jemma says, nodding eagerly. The second instruction makes her catch herself, though, and her eyes go wide as she bites her lips together and just keeps on nodding.

“Just like that,” encourages Daisy, then goes back to licking at Jemma. She runs her tongue along Jemma’s entrance slowly, wondering how she’ll react to that.

Unused to these sensations as she is, it’s something of a miracle that Jemma manages to stay still and relatively quiet. Her hips jerk, almost involuntarily, and a short, stifled moan does escape her, but she’s trying. She hopes Daisy will understand.

Daisy glances up and murmurs, “That’s fine, Jemma,” before continuing to mouth at her. She circles her tongue around Jemma’s bud experimentally.

Jemma squeezes her eyes shut, whimpering. She’s had a go at touching herself once or twice, but it’s never felt like _this_.

After a couple of minutes, Daisy decides to try sucking instead of licking. She moans a bit; Jemma’s taste is like nothing she’s ever had before.

That makes Jemma moan in turn, rocking against the mattress. Her eyes are open again; she’s realized that as easy as it is to get caught up in just feeling, she wants to watch Daisy lavish attention on her. It’s beautiful, she’s beautiful.

At one point, Daisy glances up and meets her eyes, then pauses to ask, “Enjoying yourself?”

Jemma’s not sure if she’s allowed to speak to answer, so she hums contentedly, nodding. If Daisy looks up she’ll see Jemma’s hands wrapped so tight around the rails of the headboard that her knuckles are white.

“Good,” says Daisy, satisfied. She laps at Jemma steadily, stroking her legs as she does.

That makes Jemma shiver, in the most delighted way, all down her spine, and she makes another sound that, without her entirely meaning to, comes out like a question, an urging. _More?_ is what it means, almost certainly.

Daisy chuckles and keeps kissing and licking at her as requested, humming happily. She’s starting to think that perhaps she could do this every night, if Jemma wanted.

They keep up like this for long enough that Jemma loses track of time, of where they are, of everything but how Daisy is pleasing her and what she must do to please Daisy in turn. She’s so focused that when she reaches her release, the only sound she makes is a high, almost shrill whine followed by panting like she’s trying to catch her breath.

Daisy licks her clean as best she can, then looks up. “Was that alright?” she asks playfully.

Jemma nods almost frantically, unsure if she’s allowed to speak yet but wanting there to be no doubt about her answer.

“You may speak now,” says Daisy, sliding up her body to kiss her on the lips. “You were very good, Jemma.”

“Thank you,” Jemma whispers. “And you - you were _wonderful_.”

Daisy smiles. “Thank you. I’m glad, I hardly had any experience at all but I wanted to make you feel good.”

“You did,” Jemma promises. “May I hold you?”

“Alright. Would you like me to stay on top of you, or not?”

“Whichever you prefer,” Jemma says. “I just want to be close to you.”

Daisy nods and nestles against her. “Please. I’d like that too.”

Carefully, like she’s scared of doing something wrong, Jemma brings her arms around Daisy’s waist, slides her hands up and down Daisy’s back. “I wouldn’t have wished this any other way,” she says softly.

Daisy sighs, pressing close. “Nor I,” she replies. “You’re beautiful.”

“As are you,” Jemma says. “Even if we didn’t get to show off as much as we’d have liked, and even though…” She frowns, clearly thinking of the night’s more dramatic occurrences. “It’s still been a good evening, I think.”

“I’d rather not think of him right now.” Daisy kisses her. “Besides, I hope we’ll have many more opportunities to show off together.”

Jemma bites her lip. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m sure we will. And,” she pauses, “I hope I might have an opportunity to make you feel as nice as you did me?”

“If you want to,” Daisy says. “I wouldn’t want to be greedy.”

“It’s not greedy at all!” Jemma exclaims. “You were so kind, I want to be the same.”

“Alright,” says Daisy. “How would you like me? Similarly to you?”

“Actually,” Jemma muses, “as much as I’d enjoy tasting you… perhaps I could touch you? With my fingers? And we could kiss.” Clearly that’s the draw of this plan.

“That sounds wonderful,” Daisy replies, nodding. “Shall I stay here or do we need to find a new position?”

“On your side, perhaps?” Jemma suggests. “And then I could…” She nudges Daisy off of her, then rolls on her own side and daringly swings a leg over Daisy’s.

Daisy nods. “That sounds very nice, please.”

“Good,” Jemma hums. She slips one hand up to caress Daisy’s breasts, the other down toward her center. “My, you’re warm.”

“Am I?” Daisy asks with a giggle. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“Yes,” Jemma agrees. “Warm, and a bit slippery. Is that foolish to say?”

“No,” says Daisy, laughing. “I think it’s because I was enjoying watching you so much, earlier.”

“You flatter me,” Jemma says, feeling around a bit. “And thank you. I’m glad I was so entertaining.” There’s a little question in her voice, but mostly because she doesn’t really know how to discuss this.

“You definitely were that,” agrees Daisy, “Perhaps try to feel for the same spot I was sucking on?”

“Alright,” Jemma says, nodding. Once she thinks she’s done, she runs her finger in small circles around it. “Here, perhaps?”

Daisy gasps and nods frantically. “Yes, yes, that’s wonderful!”

Jemma laughs, clearly delighted, and keeps it up for a moment before she leans in to kiss Daisy’s throat. “Just like this?” she teases.

Nodding, Daisy moans and lets her head roll back to give Jemma better access to her neck. “Please,” she says. “I want that so much.”

“Then that’s what I’ll do,” Jemma whispers, starting to kiss a line from Daisy’s collar to her jaw. “I want you to feel incredible.”

“I do,” groans Daisy. “You’re taking such good care of me.”

“Good,” Jemma murmurs, rubbing more insistently, worrying a spot on Daisy’s neck but carefully enough not to leave marks.

Daisy sighs. “Thank you, I - _oh!_ ” The last word is more of a groan than a word.

“Is that good?” Jemma asks, because she wants to be sure.

“Yes, yes, please keep doing that!” yelps Daisy.

“Alright,” Jemma says, and she moves to kiss Daisy’s lips as she does.

Daisy sighs against Jemma’s mouth. “I think I’m...close,” she murmurs.

“Yes?” Jemma asks, her free hand coming to trace the line of Daisy’s jaw.

Nodding, Daisy whimpers and moves against Jemma’s hand until finally her body jerks and she groans Jemma’s name. Once she’s calmed, she pants, “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Jemma whispers, kissing Daisy more gently.

“You’re perfect,” adds Daisy. “I can scarcely believe I’m here with you.”

Jemma blushes. “I could say the same,” she declares. “That everything lined up just so perfectly that we might... it’s remarkable.”

Daisy nods, nestling against Jemma. “Should we perhaps get beneath a blanket?” she asks, smiling. “I wouldn’t want to shock anyone who came in to find us like this.”

“Nightgowns, perhaps?” Jemma suggests. “Loath as I am to move.”

Chuckling, Daisy says, “Yes, I feel the same.” But after a moment, she reluctantly disentangles herself from Jemma and goes to retrieve their nightgowns. “One day I’d like to spend all night with you without clothing,” she says, grinning mischievously.

Jemma sighs rhapsodically. “I think that sounds wonderful,” she says.

Daisy puts Jemma’s nightgown next to her, then leans down to press a few last kisses to her breasts. “You’re so beautiful,” she says.

“You as well,” Jemma hums, pulling her nightgown over her head and waiting for a cue that it’s all right to snuggle close once more. “I wish… I wish we _were_ able to be engaged.”

After Daisy’s put on her own nightgown, she climbs back on the bed and nestles up to Jemma. “I wish that too,” she sighs. “For now we can just pretend, and know that we are each other’s in the ways that truly matter.”

“We are,” Jemma agrees, burrowing close. “I… I love you, Daisy.”

“I love you too,” says Daisy, kissing her. “More than I thought possible.”

Jemma sighs happily against Daisy’s lips. “That is a great honor,” she murmurs.

“I think I’m the one who is honored,” replies Daisy, reaching to stroke Jemma’s hair. Then her head jerks up. “It sounds like the others are coming back,” she says. “Do you want me to get-”

“No,” Jemma declares. “I don’t want you anywhere but where you are. Everyone knows what’s going on. Nobody will be scandalized.”

Daisy giggles. “Alright.” She tucks back in against Jemma. “I’m sure they’ll find it amusing.”

Sure enough, when Barbara opens the door she breaks out grinning. “Suppose you two have had a party of your own, then?” she asks, lolling in the doorway.

“Let me through,” Alisha calls from behind her.

“Why are you acting like you’re surprised?” Kara adds.

Turning to face the group, Jemma just smiles. “We’ve kept ourselves occupied,” she says.

“I’m sure you did,” calls Elena, sounding amused. “I hope we’re not interrupting anything important.”

“No,” says Daisy with a roll of her eyes. “You can all come in. Anyhow, it’s not as if we haven’t all seen each other without clothes before.”

“Do you feel any better, Daisy?” Hannah asks, coming to sit on her bed and regard the other girls curiously.

Daisy grins. “Yes, I - Jemma took good care of me.”

Akela, who’s putting on her nightgown, snorts. “I’m sure she did.”

Jemma blushes and hides her face against Daisy’s shoulder, making a noise of vague affront; Daisy pets her hair soothingly and says, “Well, you all must be tired, seems like it’s bedtime.”


	5. wishing I could hear your voice again, knowing that I never could

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daisy goes to visit her mother's grave and is interrupted; later, the company prepares to perform the Ghost's opera.

“Hello, Mother,” says Daisy, kneeling at the elegant gravestone inscribed with JIAYING - BELOVED MOTHER, INCREDIBLE TALENT. Below the inscription, the same message is written in Chinese. “So much has happened, I scarcely know where to begin. I wish you were here; I can try to imagine what you would say, but it isn’t the same at all.”

She sighs. “Well, I should start with the good news. I’m in love, Mother. Her name is Jemma. She’s a ballerina, and she’s clever and kind and beautiful. We’ve been friends since I arrived at the opera house, and we’ve only grown closer since then. I know it might not be what you wanted for me, but I’m...I’m happy with her.” Daisy smiles. “I think you’d like her, anyhow. She studies books in her spare time. She’s much smarter than I am.”

Then she frowns. “But there’s something else, too. I’ve had a teacher - he called himself the Angel of Music, and he was teaching me to sing. I thought perhaps it was the Angel you often spoke of, and that you had sent him to watch over me. But that isn’t who he is at all. He’s just a man, a cruel, controlling man who wants us all to bend to his whims. He’s decided that I am to be his...his _prize_ and I don’t know what to do.” She draws a ragged breath. “I know if you were here, you’d be able to tell me what to do. I wish that more than anything.

“Oh, and Lincoln’s come back.” She sighs again. “Do you think he was always in love with me? I never felt anything but friendship for him. He’s made it clear that he wants more from me, but I can’t...I can’t give that to him. Even if I didn’t have Jemma, I couldn’t. I wish you could give me guidance about this too.”

Daisy pauses. The breeze has picked up a little; if she closes her eyes and really concentrates, she can almost imagine it’s her mother’s fingers brushing her cheek. “Oh, and the Ghost - he calls himself the Ghost, the man who’s terrorizing us - he wants me to be his star. He wrote me an opera, he said, and he wants us all to perform it. I know you wouldn’t have wanted me to perform like this, Mother. But I don’t know how to stop it. He’s killed more than one person, and he’ll do it again if I don’t comply with his wishes. I-”

She’s startled out of her reverie by the sound of bushes rustling behind her. She whirls around. “Who’s there?” she calls, trying to sound more intimidating than she feels.

“It is I, your Angel,” calls a voice, and the Ghost appears from behind a bush. “I have come to bring you home, as you have wandered so far away.”

Daisy stares at him. “You aren’t a ghost at all,” she says accusingly. “If you were, you wouldn’t be able to leave the opera house. You’re just a lonely, angry man who terrorizes everyone into doing whatever you please.”

The Ghost sighs. “I had hoped you would see reason. Do you not wish to be my star? Isn’t that everything you’ve ever wanted?”

“Not exactly,” says Daisy, puzzled.

“But it’s what you’ve been working toward,” continues the Ghost, voice smooth as silk. “Surely you want all your hard work to pay off, and what better way than to show the world how talented you are? It’s one performance, Daisy. Then everyone will love you as I do.”

“Jemma already loves me,” says Daisy, narrowing her eyes. “And Melinda, and the other ballerinas. What you ask of me - it’s blackmail.”

“Agreed,” says a new voice, and Lincoln steps out to stand beside her, brandishing a sword. “Leave her alone, villain,” he says, aiming the sword directly at the Ghost’s chest.

“Lincoln!” Daisy exclaims. “What are you doing?”

“Teaching this bastard a lesson,” says Lincoln, keeping his eyes on the Ghost. “We’ll see how much of a ghost he is when his blood has been shed on my blade.”

“We will indeed,” says the Ghost, pulling out his own sword and meeting Lincoln’s blade with a loud _clang_.

Lincoln and the Ghost begin to duel, dancing around each other and sometimes attempting to attack, only to have the other’s sword block them. They keep this up for a few minutes when Daisy calls, “Lincoln, don’t! You were lucky to return from your ridiculous attempt to search the basement passages for him! Don’t try to make up for that now by dueling him - you can’t win!”

“But I must!” Lincoln says. “I can’t allow him to get away with what he’s done!”

“Well, I won’t witness your death!” says Daisy. “If you survive, you can come and see me in the opera house!” Without another word, she flees the scene.

 

* * *

 

When she returns to the opera house, the other ballerinas have finished rehearsal and are milling about the opera house, waiting for supper. Jemma is in the dormitories, reading, but as soon as she hears Daisy entering she slams her book shut. “Daisy, where have you been?” she exclaims, sounding worried.

“I was…” Daisy shakes her head. “I was visiting my mother’s grave, and the Ghost and Lincoln both followed me.”

Jemma’s brow furrows. “Come, sit,” she implores, patting the mattress next to her.

Daisy does, leaning her head against Jemma once she’s settled beside her. “I feel closest to her when I’m at her grave,” she explains. “I feel as if she can hear what I’m saying. So I wanted to...well, seek her guidance about the Ghost and Lincoln and all of it.” Then she pauses and adds, “I hoped that speaking about it out loud might help me to untangle and understand everything, and that I might have a helpful idea.”

“It’s a reasonable assumption,” Jemma says carefully, because she understands that although she may find something irrational it may help others. “Did you come to any conclusions?”

“No,” sighs Daisy, “because even though I tried, I was interrupted. The Ghost appeared and tried to guilt me into performing for him, and then Lincoln appeared, wielding a sword. He and the Ghost began swordfighting, and I left because they were behaving foolishly.”

“Swordfighting?” Jemma repeats, shaking her head. “That’s absurd.”

Daisy laughs, even though it isn’t really funny. “It really was. I don’t even know...I hope he survives, but I couldn’t stand to watch it another moment.”

“No, I can’t imagine you’d want to,” Jemma sighs. She reaches to stroke Daisy’s hair before adding, “That aside, you’re alright?”

“I am, I suppose.” Daisy sighs. “I only wanted a moment alone to myself, but - well, I suppose it will have to wait until we put an end to this.”

“I’m sorry,” Jemma murmurs.

“It’s alright. At least you’re here.” Daisy leans up to kiss Jemma’s cheek. “That does help.”

“Good,” Jemma says. “I want to do that very much. Do you need anything?”

“I don’t know,” says Daisy. “Just being here with you feels safe.”

“That’s important to me,” Jemma whispers. “Would you like to hear about what I was reading?”

Daisy nods. “Yes, that sounds nice. I’m not sure I’ll understand all of it, but I like listening to you.”

Smiling, Jemma begins to explain.

 

* * *

 

During rehearsal the next morning, the proceedings are dramatically interrupted by Lincoln storming into the theater. “I’m afraid I was unable to either ensnare or defeat him,” he says loudly. “We’ll have to put on the performance after all.”

The ballerinas are at the back of the stage, still warming up, which means that Barbara feels no compunction about rolling her eyes and muttering, “Thank you for the demand, Lord Failure.”

Kara snickers and ducks her head. “It’s not like we weren’t already rehearsing the damned thing anyway.”

“Maybe he didn’t know that,” Hannah defends weakly, though she’s mostly doing it out of habit.

“What do you mean, ensnare or defeat?” Coulson asks, frowning. “Did you encounter him firsthand?”

“I did, when he followed Daisy to her mother’s grave and tried to seduce her away.” Lincoln grips the hilt of his sheathed sword and adds, “It’s good I was there to protect her and drive him away.”

Elena raises an eyebrow at Daisy. “Is that really what happened?” she murmurs.

Daisy flushes. “Not quite,” she says, grimacing. “The Ghost did follow me, and Lincoln did fight him, but he was hardly... _seducing_ me. We were talking, and I had it handled, and then Lincoln got in the way.”

“But you made contact with him,” calls Raina, who’s still adjusting her worldview and sounds oddly small because of it. “Did you come close to defeating him, at least?”

“It was a long fight, and difficult,” replies Lincoln. “He nearly had me several times, but I was able to drive him off. In fact, it seemed that once he began to lose, he took the coward’s way out and vanished.”

“Vanished where?” asks Alisha. “How did he vanish?”

“All I know is that one moment he was standing in front of me, and then suddenly he wasn’t,” says Lincoln. “I don’t know how else to explain it.”

Melinda coughs pointedly. “We were already in the midst of rehearsing for the Ghost’s opera,” she says. “I don’t see how you losing a sword fight is involved with this.”

Lincoln pouts. “It means he’s still at large,” he replies. “If I had slain him-”

“Well, you didn’t,” says Hunter, rolling his eyes. “Let’s just get on with it, hm? We haven’t got much time.”

“You see,” Lincoln continues, as if Hunter hadn’t spoken, “we must put on the opera for him because we know that he will be here, in the theater. He won’t miss Daisy’s performance. It’ll be the perfect chance to put a stop to his reign of terror!”

“So you mean to use her as bait,” Jemma exclaims, standing up and putting hands on her hips.

“Unfortunately, it seems to be the only choice we have.”

Daisy steps forward. “Do I not have a say in this?” she asks.

Coulson looks thoughtful. “I don’t want to put Daisy in danger, but this is one way to know where he’ll be…”

“We were already rehearsing the opera anyway,” says Ophelia, sounding bored.

“But we weren’t planning on _attacking_ him,” Jemma retorts.

“Weren’t we?” Ophelia asks.

“No!” Jemma cries. “To my knowledge, we weren’t. We were just - conceding.” She makes a face. This is probably the most she’s ever spoken in front of the entire company, but she can’t stop now. “It wasn’t particularly noble, or safe, or anything like that, but we weren’t putting a target on Daisy’s head!”

“And what do you expect the Ghost will do at this performance?” Melinda asks Lincoln, tone skeptical.

“He’ll be watching the performance, of course,” says Lincoln with an exasperated sigh, as if he is the only reasonable person in the room. “And when he does, we’ll have a chance to sneak into his box and dispose of him.”

“You have no way of knowing that,” says Melinda. “And it certainly sounds like you consider Daisy the bait in this scenario.”

“And don’t you think we’ve tried something like that before?” Alphonso chimes in. “He’s always managed to evade us or slip out of our traps.”

“Yes, he would probably just disappear at the first sign of trouble, much like he did during your swordfight,” says Antoine from the orchestra pit. “He seems to only exist when it’s convenient to him, and vanish at the first sign of trouble.”

“But he won’t,” Lincoln says triumphantly. “Not if his beloved Daisy is singing the song that he wrote specifically for her. He will be too wrapped up in watching her to worry about anything else.”

Daisy glares at him. “You can’t even deny that I’d be the bait, when you phrase it that way,” she says angrily. “And what if I refuse?”

“You could,” Lincoln points out, “but then he will most likely hurt someone else, and their blood will be on your hands.”

Daisy growls, “I’m not going to listen to this anymore,” and leaves abruptly.

Jemma casts a despairing glance at Melinda before turning on her heel and running after Daisy, frowning. Daisy doesn’t stop moving until she reaches the chapel and so neither does Jemma. She braces herself in the doorway before she says, very softly, “If you want me to leave you alone I will.”

Daisy doesn’t look at Jemma, but she shakes her head. “You are the only person I want to see right now.”

“Can I come closer?” Jemma asks.

“Please?” Daisy whispers. “I need you.”

Immediately Jemma runs to Daisy, sitting on the ground beside her and taking her hands. “He’s awful,” she says vehemently. “He’s being absolutely horrible to you.”

“Thank you,” says Daisy, leaning sadly against Jemma. “I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve this.”

“Nothing,” Jemma exclaims. “You’ve done nothing to deserve any of this. I promise.”

“It’s getting harder to believe it,” sighs Daisy. “Perhaps I should do what they want. Then, at least, there would be an end to this madness.”

“Maybe,” Jemma says warily. “Do you really think Lincoln would be able to put a stop to him?”

“I’m not sure. But I have to hope...I don’t know of any other way,” says Daisy.

Jemma knows it’s unfair to ask her next question, but she can’t help but do. “Is he doing it to win you for himself?”

Daisy shrugs. “He might be. But even if he is, he won’t ‘win’ me, Jemma. You are the person I want to be with.”

Jemma glances down, feeling ashamed of herself. “I’m sorry,” she says. “You don’t need me getting jealous on top of everything.”

‘You needn’t apologize,” says Daisy, reaching out to stroke Jemma’s cheek. “It’s only natural. I’m sorry his behavior makes you feel jealous.”

“I think it’s just that he’s so insistent,” Jemma sighs. “I trust _you_. I just… it bothers me, how he treats you.”

“It bothers me too,” agrees Daisy, “but I’m not sure how to make him stop. Perhaps if I were to grab you and kiss you in front of the entire company,” she adds dryly, “but I think that might be untoward.”

“I think they all know, don’t they?” Jemma asks, smirking.

“ _They_ do, but if he were there as well, it might shock him into behaving,” says Daisy, grinning back. “But that seems a bit rude.”

“A bit,” Jemma concedes, rolling her eyes playfully. “I’ll live with the jealousy. I just wish he would stop acting as if you can’t fend for yourself.”

“I wish that as well,” Daisy says. “If only I could come up with a way to prove to him that I’m not a helpless child…”

“I’m sure Melinda would show us some ways to defend ourselves if we asked,” Jemma says suddenly, eyes gleaming.

“Oh! Do you think?” Daisy asks, eyes lighting up.

“We wouldn’t lose anything by asking,” Jemma says. “And given the state of things, I’m sure we could all stand to learn.”

“Yes, definitely.” Daisy slowly starts to stand up. “Perhaps we could ask her after rehearsal is finished. We’d better get back there, I suppose.”

“Are you feeling better?” Jemma asks, rising to her feet and brushing herself off.

“A bit, yes. Thank you for talking with me.” Daisy takes her hand and smiles. “You make me feel less alone.”

“I’d like to do that always,” Jemma murmurs, lifting Daisy’s hand to her lips and kissing it. “I want to make your life better however I can.”

“You do,” promises Daisy. “And I as well, alright?”

“You do,” Jemma echoes. “You’re… you’re more incredible than I ever dreamed.”

Daisy sighs happily, leaning in for a quick kiss. “You too,” she whispers.

“Thank you,” Jemma hums. “We’ll make it through this.”

“I hope so,” says Daisy with a nod.

 

* * *

 

Once the rehearsal is finished, Daisy goes over to Melinda. “You know how to protect yourself,” she says, not asking a question.

Melinda, barely glancing up from the notebook she is writing in, nods.

“Could you teach us some of what you know? Me and Jemma? And the others, maybe,” adds Daisy hastily. “We thought perhaps it would be smart if we knew some of those techniques.”

Melinda makes a quiet _hm_ sound. “This has something to do with the Ghost, doesn’t it?”

“Well,” Jemma adds, coming up beside Daisy, “we don’t know what will happen. It’s better to be prepared than not.”

“I’d like to learn some defensive tactics too,” chimes in Akela. She’d been unlacing her shoes, seemingly not listening.

“It wouldn’t be a horrible idea,” Kara hums.

“And goodness knows, the Ghost isn’t the only man we’ll probably ever need to fend off,” Barbara says, rolling her eyes.

After a long moment, Melinda sighs. “Very well. But we will _only_ learn the most basic techniques - I can’t afford to let any of you injure yourselves before the performance.”

“Thank you,” Jemma says eagerly, and the others nod along.

“Can we start now?” Alisha asks.

“I suppose now is as good a time as any other,” Melinda says. “Wait here, all of you. I’ll ensure we have the room to ourselves.” She glances over at Coulson and Hunter, who are sitting in the audience talking quietly, and Lincoln, who is almost pouting as he watches them.

Jemma squeezes Daisy’s hand. “See? This will work.”

After shooing the men away, and ensuring the rest of the theater is cleared, Melinda goes back to her ballerinas. Before she has a chance to say anything, though, Raina pops out of the wings and exclaims, “Can I learn too?”

Melinda blinks, which is the only indication that this at all startles her. “I suppose,” she says. “What will _you_ need it for?”

Raina glances down at herself, shrugging. “You’ve seen or heard some of the nonsense I have to tolerate from men,” she says. Whether because she’s a woman or of African descent is unclear - she probably means both. “It wouldn’t hurt to know in case things got worse than nonsense.”

“Fair point,” replies Melinda, smirking. “Barbara, come here, please. I’ll use you as an example.”

Barbara grins and goes to Melinda’s side, winking at the others. “You don’t have to hold back too much with me,” she says. Nobody really knows what her life was before she came to the opera house, but her worldliness suggests she might already know something about fighting.

“Good.” Melinda positions herself so she’s standing in front of Barbara. “Now, grab me from behind, as if you’re trying to drag me away.”

Barbara does, looking smug.

“Everyone else pay attention,” Melinda says. “If someone grabs you like this, there are a few places you can aim on his body that will help you break free. Don’t try to be a hero and attack him in return, just fight hard enough that he lets go of you and run as fast as you can.”

“I hadn’t planned on being a hero,” Elena murmurs to the other ballerinas. “That would just be foolish.”

“I don’t think that’s really something you can plan,” Kara muses.

“Here, the stomach,” says Melinda, making sure everyone is watching before elbowing Barbara gently there. “The inside of the feet.” She kicks at Barbara’s foot, just hard enough to demonstrate how Barbara is thrown off balance. “The nose.” Again, she gently nudges Barbara’s nose with her elbow. “And here.” Finally, she nudges Barbara - well, between the legs.

“That last one will suffice more often than not,” Barbara smirks.

“What about if we have to go on the offensive, though?” Raina asks. “Not every horrible man will come at us from behind.”

Melinda nods. “Using fists is good. Be sure you make a fist with your thumb on the outside.” She demonstrates. “It goes against your instincts, but keeping the thumb on the inside means it may break under stress easier.”

Daisy tries it. “I think I understand,” she says, offering her fist for inspection.

“Good. Also, keep your wrist facing downward when you punch. It’s stronger than if you’re punching up, with your wrist up.” Melinda demonstrates this for everyone.

Jemma frowns. “I’ve seen it done either way, though,” she says.

“Both work, but in your case you want strength behind the punch. That comes more often with the first type of punch I mentioned.” Melinda does it again. “The idea is to do as much damage as possible to them while not hurting yourself.”

“Do you think we’d be able to punch the Ghost away?” Kara asks, almost wry.

Snorting, Melinda replies, “I suspect not, but it’s good to know how to. Also, as you all know, if you think the Ghost is near, keep your hand at the level of your eyes.”

“Why hasn’t the Ghost ever enlisted henchmen?” Raina asks. “Since he’s an ordinary man after all.”

“I don’t think he’s intelligent enough to think of that,” says Melinda. “I encountered him once, in this opera house. He looked at me like a startled animal and ran away.”

“I think he’s intelligent about some things,” interrupts Daisy. “He was certainly clever enough to lure me into his lair and figure out how to drug me without my knowledge. Perhaps only in certain respects, though.”

Jemma squeezes Daisy’s hand, frowning. “Everyone has their talents, I suppose,” she sighs. “His are certainly… odd and unappealing.”

Melinda smirks. “Indeed. I’m afraid if we wanted an explanation for his behavior, we’d be waiting a long time.” She pauses before adding, “Practicing some of these techniques on your own time might not be a bad idea. And keep an eye on each other, but I know you’ll all do that. I know none of us want to do this, but I suspect if we pull it off, we won’t have to live like this much longer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything we know about self-defense we learned from _Miss Congeniality_. Sorry not sorry.


	6. down once more to the dungeons of my black despair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's opening night of the Ghost's opera and the company has a plan to catch him. Things go awry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First: sorry this one took us two weeks. Last weekend was eventful, and also there's just a lot in this chapter.
> 
> Second: seriously, look up the differences between Villeneuve's _Beauty an the Beast_ and the more standard versions, it's bonkers.
> 
> Third: cw for all the death and kidnapping you expect from the end of this story. And then some.

The orchestra has begun to play the overture, the lights in the auditorium have dimmed, the audience is so far mostly baffled (the Ghost’s score is rather more modern than they’re used to), and the company is practically vibrating with nervous energy backstage. “Asking if you’re ready seems somehow an understatement,” Jemma whispers to Daisy.

Daisy smiles at her, but it’s an anxious smile. “I am ready for all of this to be over,” she replies.

“It will be, soon,” Jemma promises, tracing circles on the back of Daisy’s hand. “We just have to make it through tonight.”

“Yes,” sighs Daisy. “I can do that much, anyhow.” She leans over to quickly kiss Jemma’s cheek. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Jemma murmurs. “Anything you need from me, I’ll give.”

Melinda comes over to them. “I’d keep this on your person during the performance,” she says, offering a small, ornate knife to Daisy. “Just...in case.”

Daisy’s eyes go wide, but she nods and carefully tucks the knife in her bosom. (She’s never needed to put anything in her bosom, but she supposes maybe that’s the correct thing to do.) “Thank you,” she says.

“Of course,” nods Melinda. “I’ll do my best to protect you all tonight.”

“That’s very meaningful,” says Jemma, attempting a smile.

Not long after Melinda exits, the action of the opera begins. It’s based on Villeneuve’s _Beauty and the Beast_ , which is pointed in a way nobody has mentioned but everyone has realized; it’s not the first time that the tale has been the inspiration for an opera, at least loosely, but as Jemma explained to the others, the Ghost’s version relies heavily on the complicated and enchantment-ridden original version, not the one that is most commonly told.

Much of the difference lies in the two main characters’ backstories, which is told in a ballet sequence at the start of the tale: the enchantress responsible for the Beast’s transformation, an evil fairy, had cast the spell due to the young man’s refusal to fall prey to her seduction while his father was dead and his mother was away at war; Beauty had been the offspring of a different king and a good fairy, placed in the care of the merchant to ensure her safety from the same murderous evil fairy. The ballet finds the evil fairy played by Akela (she and Raina exchanged knowing looks upon receiving the casting notice), the soon-to-be-Beast played by Donald, one of the male corps de ballet (their work is so often different from their female counterparts that their rehearsals together are rare, and this particular dance was an interesting clashing of wills to choreograph), and Beauty played by Kara, likely because she’s the closest in appearance to Daisy. (They don’t look the same at all, not really, but their family trees reach toward the same general part of the world and that’s enough for some people, apparently including the Ghost.)

The first sung-through scene is of Beauty’s apparently adopted family, a sort of establishing of their characters (all flat, all generalized, none with any nuance except Beauty). Alphonso plays the father, having a deeper voice than many of the other men, while the three battle-hungry brothers are played by the company’s resident _actual_ brothers, Eric and William and Samuel, and the two selfish sisters are played by Raina and Ophelia. And Daisy, of course, is Beauty.

What this scene establishes is mostly what horrible people the other characters are and how little any of them (even the well-meaning but hapless father) understand Beauty in her soul. Raina and Ophelia are glad of their characters’ apparent disdain, as it gives them excuses to roll their eyes about this and what it so clearly implies about the Ghost’s opinion of not only them but everyone who stands between him and Daisy; backstage, while divesting themselves of their prologue costumes and putting on the townspeople’s attire they’ll need for their next scene, Kara and Akela roll their eyes even more fiercely.

It also establishes the plot, namely the loss of the father’s fortune and the family’s subsequent removal to a simple farm in the country; only Beauty is pure of heart enough not to be bothered by this, which earns her criticism from her wicked and worldly adopted siblings. At this point, the audience is shifting in their seats, more confused than any of them would care to let on; parts of this are familiar to them, but the fairy-studded duplicitous exposition left them all feeling caught off-guard. The music is at times listenable but at times discordant, which doesn’t help.

When the merchant receives word that some of his lost wares may yet be salvageable, the scene shifts to that of a portside town with a loud and jarring collection of chords to signify change. The merchant is to retrieve his goods, then procure presents for his children, all of whom but Beauty ask exorbitant displays of wealth, but he’s soon disabused of the notion that he’ll be able to when he finds out the very items he came to collect have been seized by the government to pay for his many debts. (“Perhaps the Ghost was once wealthy and lost everything, perhaps that’s how he came to skulk in our basement,” Alisha whispers backstage. “It doesn’t excuse this, but it seems likely as anything.”)

Thus struck with poverty all over again, the merchant wanders through this fake town, occupied mainly by ballerinas in varying states of enterprise. Barbara pretends to sell bread, Elena pretends to sell jewelry… and Jemma, in a cameo specifically assigned to her in the script, traipses across the merchant’s path smiling bawdily and carrying a small bag of money as if to imply (the audience all gets the implication correctly) that she’s been selling herself. (More than once, through the rehearsals, Jemma wondered if this was some sort of passive-aggressive revenge on the Ghost’s part because she’s so close with Daisy. But then, the Ghost doesn’t seem to understand _how_ close she is with Daisy, either, so it might just be that he ran out of other ideas and defaulted to something he found salacious.)

And then the merchant finds himself caught in a storm. He’s chased through the forest by wolves (the male corps de ballet, none of them particularly pleased with the demotion to wild animals) before arriving at a palace where he takes shelter. There, he’s waited on by “invisible” servants (this means the female corps de ballet, now changed into nondescript black, doing things while Alphonso pretends not to see them); there, he discovers a rose that he can steal to satisfy at least his kindest daughter’s wishes.

Leopold (who is playing the Beast) emerges from his hiding place and asks what the merchant is doing in his garden. The merchant explains that he means to take the rose for his daughter, and the Beast flies into a rage and threatens to kill the merchant for taking advantage of his hospitality earlier, only to steal from him. Terrified, the merchant pleads for his life, and the Beast agrees to allow him to return home with the rose, as long as he or one of his daughters returns to the castle to live with the Beast forever. The merchant agrees, and the Beast supplies him with gifts of fine clothes and jewelry for the rest of his children before sending him on his way. Once the merchant has returned home, he gives his children the gifts and doesn’t mention the bargain to them. Beauty, however, realizes something is wrong and confronts her father, who relents and tells her what happened.

This leads into Daisy’s first solo, when she journeys to the Beast’s castle and sings a song meant to convey her naivete and innocence. The audience, while puzzled about the contents of the show, seem appreciative of her singing. Once she reaches the castle, the Beast enters for their first duet.

 

* * *

 

Hunter and Coulson, resting comfortably in their box, are enjoying the show (and doing their best to ignore their vague sense of unease due to the armed guards behind them). When the Beast enters the stage for the first duet, Hunter sits up a little straighter and nudges Coulson. “That’s not Leopold,” he says.

“What?” Coulson holds up his opera glasses, squinting into them.

“Look. He’s taller, more muscular, and his voice is deeper.” Hunter frowns. “Did something happen to him and they had to get an understudy or something?”

“There wasn’t an understudy for the Beast,” says Coulson darkly. He stands up. “I think we’d better go down there ourselves.”

“Dammit.” Hunter sighs and begins to follow him.

The guards block their exit. “You both should stay here,” says one of them. “The authorities will be notified and they will take care of this.”

“Because that’s worked out so well _before_ ,” snarks Hunter.

The other guard frowns. “Sir, you never called for our services before. We cannot be held responsible for that.”

Coulson frowns back. “But surely you can see the merits of-”

“Sir, we’ve been hired to protect the two of you. We will continue to do that in lieu of further instructions.” The first guard leans against the door to the box. “If I were you, I’d sit back down and enjoy the rest of the show.”

 

* * *

 

Daisy’s so taken aback by the entrance of the Beast - who is obviously _not_ Leopold, he has the Ghost’s mask covering his face and none of Leopold’s makeup - that she almost misses a line, but manages to recover. She manages to keep her voice from shaking too much with rage and fear. The Ghost is standing right in front of her, wearing a costume much like Leopold’s and singing the lines as if - as if what? As if he’d written the role for himself? _Of_ course _he has_ , she thinks. _He wants nothing more than to be the Beast to my Beauty._ And if he’s here, then Leopold must be - elsewhere. Likely not breathing. She puts that out of her mind and tries to focus.

She continues to perform as if nothing is wrong, but rests her hand on her bosom, hoping it will come across as romantic. Really, she’s making sure the dagger Melinda gave her is on hand. Perhaps she’ll be able to get close enough to stab him, and then all this will be over.

This song is quite pretty; it’s the duet where Beauty sings about how she’s arrived at the castle for her life with the Beast, and due to her trusting nature and naivete, she’s not sure what to expect. The Beast, upon seeing her, wonders if she might be the one who could look past his hideous face and fall in love with him. Daisy likes the song, but singing it with the Ghost adds another, more menacing element. His intentions behind using this story are now clear, at least to her. (They can’t be good or pure intentions, she’s sure.)

The story calls for Beauty and the Beast to not meet eyes until the climax of the song, when they meet in the center of the stage. At this point, she is meant to take pity on him, but Daisy feels nothing but anger and revulsion. And so, when they meet and she is close enough to him, she pulls out her knife and stabs him in the shoulder.

There is a series of gasps from the audience and the other cast members alike. Most of them have been off changing costumes or taking their new positions backstage, which accounts for why none of them ran on stage to confront the Ghost upon his entrance, but enough of them are settled to witness this attack, and they’re horrified; the audience is largely unaware of the dramatic circumstances behind this production, but many of them are connecting the change in leading men with the leading lady stabbing him with the unusual amount of armed guards present in the opera house.

For a moment, the Ghost is too shocked to do anything but stare at her, shocked. “You stabbed me,” he whispers.

“I did,” replies Daisy, tone full of conviction.

She’s about to say more, but no sooner does she open her mouth than she’s surrounded by a thick cloud of smoke.

 

* * *

 

Everyone is alarmed by the Ghost’s sudden disappearance and his absconding with Daisy, and the performance obviously comes to a halt as such. Alphonso runs onstage to call out, “Where’s Daisy?”

Elena and Akela follow him onstage, looking horrified. “We don’t know!” says Elena. “What happened to her? She was right here!”

“It looked like he magicked her right out of thin air!” Raina exclaims as she and Ophelia appear from the other side of the stage, both their faces reflecting a mixture of horror and astonishment (Raina’s tending toward the former, Ophelia’s toward the latter). “Like he just vanished with her! We knew that he could do that, didn’t we?”

Lincoln, who has rushed toward the stage, shouts, “We did know that, but we didn’t think he would go that far with her.”

“We should have thought of that,” mutters Akela darkly. “We knew he was capable of much worse.”

Before anyone can say anything more, perhaps in answer to the confused roar starting to build from the audience, something drops from the ceiling, narrowly avoiding a collision with Ophelia. She sneers at the offending object before she realizes just what she’s facing: the garroted corpse of Leopold. His eyes are bulging out and his costume is stained with blood from his fatal wound, and it’s a terrible sight but it takes Ophelia a moment to shift her expression from disgust to fright, which she accompanies with a high-pitched shriek.

Elena curls her lip. “ _Bastard!_ ”

“Oh my god,” says Coulson, who has come down to the main floor along with Hunter. He puts a hand over his mouth in horror, then looks over at his partner. “What do we _do?_ ”

“Well, I’m pretty sure we’re done with the performance,” says Hunter dryly, though he too looks shaken. “Somebody had better tell the audience to go home and worry about their refunds later.”

“I don’t suppose there’s any way we could keep it going?” Coulson asks weakly.

Hunter shakes his head. “No, I think we’re done. It’s done.”

Akela runs offstage to where Melinda is standing just inside the wings, staring in horror. “What about Daisy?” she asks. “We can’t do anything for Leopold now, but we still have a chance to save Daisy!”

Melinda nods, though it seems hesitant, as if she’s still in shock. “He must have taken her to his lair under the opera house,” she says. “We’ll have to go and find them ourselves.”

Lincoln nods fervently. “We should go now! I’ll lead the way!”

Hunter frowns. “Do we even know how to get down there? Isn’t it meant to be, you know, secret?”

“I know where there’s a door!” Jemma exclaims, rushing forward. “Behind the mirror, in the leading lady’s dressing room - Melinda, you saw it too. She told me that’s where he first appeared, if we go through that door we should be able to find her.”

Barbara sets her jaw. “Wouldn’t hurt to have a few weapons to take with us,” she suggests.

“I have a few in my chambers,” says Melinda. “If you all come with me, I can take you there and then Jemma can take us to the entrance.”

Lincoln pouts; Coulson nods. “Hunter and I can work on calming down the audience and sending them away.” Some audience members have already gotten up and fled, but others remain in their seats, talking anxiously amongst themselves.

“And we’ll take care of the body,” Hunter says, then glances sidelong at Ophelia. “And work on...comforting the other performers.” Ophelia, for her part, doesn’t seem to notice his attentions, being deep in a whispered conversation with Raina.

Melinda, Lincoln, the ballerinas, Alphonso, and Antoine all hurry to Melinda’s room. Melinda pulls a box from beneath her bed and begins to sort through it. The others huddle in the doorway, too intimidated to go inside Melinda’s quarters. Finally Melinda rolls her eyes and calls, “You may come in. I need to give you all knives.”

Hesitantly, they tiptoe in. “You didn’t show us what to do with those,” Kara says doubtfully.

“Remove the sheaths and stab him wherever you can,” says Melinda with a wry smile. “It’s not difficult. If more than one of you can attack him at once, you may have a chance to incapacitate him.”

“Do you have any guns?” Barbara asks. “I’ve been told I’m a fair shot.”

Melinda eyes her for a second before nodding and digging a pistol out of the box. “Here,” she says. “Be sure you have a clear shot.”

“I will,” Barbara says. She turns to Jemma and tries for a reassuring smile as she adds, “Are you ready to lead us?”

“I’m only leading you to the door,” Jemma says, frowning shyly. “Beyond that, I would think someone tougher ought to… it would be better if…”

“I’m willing to lead,” says Melinda, “if she’s uncomfortable.” Jemma nods, feeling embarrassed but knowing it’s for the best. “Is everyone ready?”

“Let’s get on with it,” says Lincoln impatiently.

Melinda purses her lips, but says nothing more, just looks at Jemma. “Where are we going?”

“The dressing room,” Jemma says again. “You found me there, looking for her. Down the passage behind the mirror.” She tightens her grip on her knife as she tries to think of the best way to say this without betraying Daisy’s trust. “He may have access to opiates, as well, or other intoxicating substances. Be careful, all of you.”

She starts in the direction of the dressing room, worrying her lip, and the others follow her. Barbara takes her hand - not presumptuously, she knows of Jemma and Daisy’s bond, but comfortingly, as a friend - and Kara comes on the other side of her to link their arms, which would feel lighthearted in any other circumstance. As it is, it’s simple comfort.

“How do you know about the drugs?” Alphonso asks. “That sounds like something out of a bad novel.”

Jemma shrugs. “We’ve had clues,” she says evasively. “I only mention it as a precaution.” They reach the dressing room and she makes to open the door, looking deep in concentration. “It was just behind - the full length mirror, it should slide back…”

Alisha darts forward to push the mirror out of the way, grimacing slightly with the effort (it’s not exactly lightweight) and then nodding in approval as the corridor is revealed. “Looks like this is the place,” she says. “Melinda?”

Melinda nods. “And remember, everyone, keep your hand at the level of your eyes while we’re there. Alright. Lincoln, you’ll be in the front with me.” This makes him puff up with pride. “Alphonso comes after us. Girls, stay behind us and don’t get involved in the fight if you don’t have to. Antoine can bring up the rear.”

Everyone gets into place, and Melinda and Lincoln enter the tunnels first. They’re exploring for a while, then Melinda starts down one tunnel purposefully. “This seems right.”

“I’m frightened,” whispers Hannah.

Antoine rests a hand on her shoulder comfortingly. “I think we’re all frightened,” he says with a kind smile. “We don’t know what we’re walking into.”

“People say it’s hell,” Hannah murmurs. “I’m not sure how they know if they haven’t seen it, but I believe them. He’s horrible enough that that’s where he belongs.”

“But he’s certainly not the devil,” interjects Elena. “He’s just a man, a very cruel, selfish man, and we can defeat him.”

The group comes upon a lake, and Melinda wrinkles her nose. “This seems like we’re headed in the right direction,” she says dryly.

“Why would he _need_ this?” asks Alphonso, baffled. “It seems utterly useless and inconvenient.”

“Because if it’s difficult to get to his lair, that gives him more time to do whatever horrible things he’s doing to Daisy.” Lincoln strides over to the dock, where there’s a small rowboat. “We’ll be able to cross here.”

“That’s not going to be large enough for all of us,” Barbara points out.

Melinda sighs. “We’ll have to make two trips. Someone will have to ferry the second group across.”

“I can do that,” offers Antoine.

Melinda nods acknowledgment and then motions to Lincoln and Alphonso. “The three of us should cross first,” she says.

Lincoln grips the hilt of his sword. “I’ll give that bastard a taste of his own medicine.”

Once the three of them are safely across, Lincoln draws his sword. Melinda rolls her eyes but says nothing. They creep forward, unsure every time they encounter a corner about what they’ll fine on the other side.

Finally, Melinda hears Daisy’s voice and starts running toward it, the others close behind her. They find the Ghost, angrily speaking to what seems to be an empty room about how nobody else could _possibly_ understand what he’s been through.

“Foul villain!” cries Lincoln, brandishing her sword. “Where do you have her?”

The Ghost is so surprised he stops mid-sentence, at which points Daisy appears from behind a dressing curtain, wearing a truly ridiculous white wedding dress. “I’m here,” she says, looking very unhappy about her current situation.

“Let her go!” Lincoln says, lunging forward as if to leap the entire distance between them and take on the Ghost by himself. Melinda grabs the back of his coat and hisses in his ear, “ _Not yet_. We need to make him think he has the advantage.”

“Oh, isn’t that sweet?” The Ghost laughs. “A little party of three, come to rescue their Persephone from the underworld. Sweet, but futile. Daisy will choose to be with me.”

“And why _exactly_ would I ever chose to be with you?” she asks. “You _kidnapped_ me!”

“Only to show you how much I love you!” he argues. “No one will ever love me because of my face and my past! I thought you could understand that! I thought you would look past it!”

“Your face is not what prevents me from loving you! I see nothing wrong with your face at all! You look like hundreds of other men!”

“You don’t understand!” he wails. “I look nothing like my father! And he took this to mean I was a bastard, though my mother insisted she was faithful to him, and he beat me for it! I’ve never known kindness or love from anyone before! All because of my face!”

Daisy blinks. “I’m sorry your father was cruel to you,” she says, trying for gentle. “That was wrong of him. But it is _also_ wrong of you to terrorize and hurt and _kill_ people.”

“Why should I care for others when no one has ever cared for me?” roars the Ghost. “Except for you, Daisy! I thought that _you_ cared for me!”

“I…” She takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry you’ve had such a terrible life, but I want you to stop hurting my friends.”

“Daisy, you can’t reason with him!” says Lincoln, lunging forward with his sword. “The only argument he understands is pain!”

The Ghost draws his sword as well, and they immediately begin to fight, neither holding back. “Lincoln!” Daisy calls, horrified. “Stop! I was handling it!”

Melinda catches Daisy’s eye and hisses, “ _Don’t._ If you want Lincoln to make it out of this duel alive, you’ll stay quiet.” Daisy looks unhappy, but bites her lip.

The two spar for a while, fairly evenly matched, until Lincoln gets in a lucky nick on the Ghost’s arm, enough to draw blood. He shouts triumphantly, and this seems to throw off his concentration, because then the Ghost laughs. “Didn’t anyone warn you?” he mocks. “To keep your hand at the level of your _eyes_?”

Lincoln furrows his brow, but before he or any of the others can react, a noose slips down from the ceiling and loops around his neck, tightening quickly. Daisy shrieks, and the Ghost laughs again. “Fool! You thought you could defeat me! I have defeated you!” He thrusts his sword in Alphonso’s direction, who is trying to come free Lincoln and barely jumps out of the way in time.

Lincoln attempts to choke out something that might be an insult, and the Ghost is about to respond to him, but then there’s a commotion as the ballerinas and Antoine disembark from the rowboat and Barbara hisses, “Your time of playing games with our lives is at an end, bastard.”

The Ghost flinches as if she’s shot him and snarls, “I will do just as I please with your insignificant lives, _whore!_ ”

Beside her, Kara flinches, but Barbara just smiles humorlessly and narrows her eyes at him. “What in the world makes you think you’ve the right?” she asks.

“You couldn’t possibly understand,” scoffs the Ghost. “You’ve all grown up in luxury, not scorned for your very face! My father rejected me because he didn’t believe I could possibly be his son, and I was beaten and cursed for my mere existence. I was thrown out of my parents’ house when I was barely old enough to fend for myself, and since then no one has said a kind word to me or offered me any help! You can’t understand what that feels like.”

Akela coughs, gesturing pointedly to her dark skin and glass eye. “Not all of us grew up in that lap of luxury you’re prattling on about,” she says.

“And for many of us, there was little kindness until we came to this place,” Kara adds, glancing down (the scar on her cheek is faded and she’s had years of practice disguising it with cosmetics, but it and the event that left it there have remained significant in her memory). “Don’t be so quick to assume you know us just because you’ve spied on us for years.”

“Besides,” says Hannah, looking terrified that she’s daring to speak, “did you ever truly ask for help? Or did you just demand it?”

“Should I have had to ask for help? Shouldn’t someone have _offered?_ ” he sneers.

“She means, did you even bother to actually ask for help or did you just assume no one would help, and jump straight to causing trouble,” says Melinda dryly. Lincoln, in the background, makes a wheezing noise that seems to be in agreement.

The Ghost scoffs. “Either way! No one has ever helped me, I have had to help myself!” He glares at the ballerinas. “And why should _you_ have had what I did not? All you have is the fleeting beauty of youth, and once you are old no one will remember you!”

Elena glares back and calls, “We may not be young forever, but we have this opera house, and we have each other! It is the kind of love you will never understand, you would prefer to frighten people into submission!”

He sighs. “I tire of these semantics.” He moves his hand, and the rope around Lincoln’s neck tightens.

“Stop it!” cries Daisy. “Let him go, please!”

“Do whatever you want to me, you monster,” wheezes Lincoln. “But let her be free of this!”

“That’s sweet,” says the Ghost, in a patronizing tone. “His last thoughts are for his beloved. Very well, I’ll do what I wish with you.” Then he tightens the rope again, and before anyone can stop him Lincoln’s corpse hangs limply from the noose.

“ _No!_ ” cries Daisy, grabbing the nearest object (a candlestick) and lobbing it at the Ghost. He laughs cruelly and steps out of the way.

Jemma pushes her way toward the front of the cluster of ballerinas, eyes blazing. “Even if your troubled youth excused some of your wrongdoings,” she mutters, “even if good and evil worked in that way, you’re a manipulator and a kidnapper. You took advantage of a kind soul because you wanted to know if you could and because you valued your own happiness more than that of someone you claim to love. And you’re a murderer, too. At least three times over now, isn’t it? James, and then Leopold, and now Lincoln, all just because you could.” Her grip tightens on the hilt of her knife. “You take pleasure from hurting people, not just because you’ve been hurt but because you’re a cruel, evil man.”

“ _Cruel_?” The Ghost looms over Jemma, sneering. “You have no idea what I’m capable of, girl. And I suggest you not try to find out. It would be most unpleasant for you, and I don’t have to worry about keeping you alive either.”

Jemma flinches, but she doesn’t look away. “I know you’d rather coerce someone into loving you than actually put in the work,” she says evenly. “I know you care little about what or who you have to cut down to get what you want. But I also know that you won’t get it, not ultimately.”

As she’s been speaking, some of the others, led by Antoine, have stayed close behind her, ready to defend her if need be, but Barbara and Kara and Akela have drifted to one side, nearer to where Melinda and Alphonso stand. Without saying anything, Barbara tries to catch Daisy’s attention and draw it to the pistol in her hand.

Daisy’s mostly staring at Lincoln’s body in horror, but finally she notices Barbara’s attempts and nods at her. Once Jemma’s finished her taunt, and the Ghost is looking as if he’s deciding what horrible punishment to dole out to her, Daisy says, “Wait!” When the Ghost turns to look at her, she says, trying to sound humble and chastised, “Please, stop hurting my friends. Don’t do anything to them, let them go. I’ll come with you, but you must let them go unharmed.”

The Ghost tilts his head, as if considering this new development. “And you promise to stay with me?” he asks, sounding as if he doesn’t quite trust her. “You’ll be mine forever?”

Daisy swallows and nods. “Yes, yes, I will, I promise. Come here, please, and I’ll give you a kiss as proof.”

Jemma squeaks in horror - well, she hasn’t been watching the silent exchange between the others - and reaches out as if to stop this somehow, but Antoine quickly reaches up to tug her back. “Wait,” he murmurs. “Daisy surely has a plan.”

“Remember what Melinda gave us,” Alisha adds in a whisper, her eyes darting to Barbara and back as if to clarify her meaning.

“Alright,” Jemma mumbles, stepping back with arms wrapped around her middle.

Daisy, meanwhile, beckons the Ghost towards her. He steps forward slowly, almost like a skittish animal. “Trust me,” says Daisy, offering her hand. “Don’t you wish to trust your wife?”

“Yes,” says the Ghost, coming forward until he can finally put his arms around her. Daisy leans up to kiss him once on the lips, then suddenly wrenches herself away from him and calls, “Barbara, now!”

Without hesitation, Barbara lifts her pistol and aims it at the Ghost’s heart. The other girls gasp when the shot tears through him, surprised though mostly because they’ve never before been this close to gunfire before. The Ghost crumples to the ground.

“Daisy!” Jemma shouts, running forward.

“Jemma,” gasps Daisy, collapsing against her.

“Daisy, I’m so sorry,” Jemma says, wrapping arms around Daisy and stroking her soothingly. “I’m so sorry.”

“What for?” murmurs Daisy. “It wasn’t _you_ who got Lincoln...you’re not...you didn’t cause any of this.”

“I’m still sorry,” Jemma sighs. “I’m sorry that all of these terrible things have happened to you. I’m sorry I haven’t been able to fix them. I’m sorry for the horror and grief you must be feeling.”

Daisy sighs. “I’d like to go home,” she says in a small voice.

Jemma nods, glancing back at all of the others. “Can we find our way out of here?” she asks.

“Someone should… the…” Hannah frowns, glancing at the two corpses.

“Antoine and I will take care of them,” says Alphonso. “The rest of you should go back upstairs.”

“Come on, girls,” says Melinda. “I don’t think any of us want to stay here any longer.”

Carefully, Jemma reaches for Daisy’s hand; Barbara and Kara, Akela and Elena, Alisha and Hannah are similarly joined as they make to exit this den of terror. “We’ll go upstairs and we’ll just be,” Jemma promises.

“And later, we can burn that dress, if you’d like,” Alisha offers kindly.

“Maybe,” says Daisy, sounding exhausted. “I’ll decide later. I just want to...stop for awhile.”

“We can do that,” Jemma says, and then after a moment she adds, more softly, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” whispers Daisy, nuzzling against Jemma.

 

* * *

 

When the ballerinas reappear in the foyer, Hunter rushes over to them. “What happened?” he demands. “Did you defeat the Ghost? And where’s Lincoln?”

“Don’t bother them,” scolds Melinda, but very solemnly Kara says, “He’s gone, but so is the Ghost.”

Fearing for Daisy’s well-being, Jemma clears her throat and murmurs, “We’re going upstairs.” She pauses for just a moment before gently guiding Daisy toward the stairs.

“But what _happened?_ ” calls Hunter behind them. They’re almost out of earshot, but they can hear Melinda speaking harshly to him.

Once the two of them are inside the dormitories, Daisy collapses onto her bed. “I’m sorry,” she sighs. “I should be happier that he’s gone for good, but…”

“It’s understandable,” Jemma says, starting to work the laces of the accursed wedding gown. “The Ghost is gone, but so is... and the whole thing has been so tumultuous, you’ve barely had a chance to process any of it. You’re conflicted. You’ve every right to be.”

“I suppose,” says Daisy, sounding doubtful. “I’m not sorry for the Ghost, he was horrible and he had chances to change, but Lincoln...he didn’t deserve that.”

Jemma frowns and strokes down Daisy’s side. “He didn’t,” she agrees softly. “But he… he was trying to help, and I’m sure that’s not much comfort, but…”

Daisy nods. “He was,” she says softly. “Thank you. You’re wonderful.”

“You deserve nothing but,” Jemma replies. “Would you sit up for a moment so I can get this dress off?”

“Yes.” Daisy sits up and gives Jemma a shaky smile. “Are you alright? It can’t have been easy for you either.”

Jemma pulls the gown over Daisy’s head and tosses it to the floor before she replies, choosing her words carefully. “I hadn’t imagined how awful all of this could be,” she says, “and in regards to that, I’m more stunned than anything. But all I could think of, from the moment he stepped on that stage with you, was whether you would be alright yourself. I know you can care for yourself, but I…” She shakes her head, clearly upset. “I was still terrified for you.”

Daisy laughs shakily. “You’re sweet. Thank you.” She crosses her arms in front of herself. “I appreciate that.”

“I mean it,” Jemma says earnestly, leaning closer. “I can’t imagine my life without you.”

“Nor can I,” whispers Daisy, leaning to kiss Jemma on the lips gently. Then she adds, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Jemma murmurs. “So much. More than anything.”

Daisy sighs and rests her forehead against Jemma’s. “Thank you. For...for everything. I’m sorry for how Lincoln-” She chokes on his name, then swallows and continues shakily, “I’m, I’m sorry you two were so at odds. I would like to think it would’ve been different if…”

“I think it could have been, in time,” Jemma says diplomatically. “I bear him no ill will, and hope…” She pauses, trying to think of the kindest way to say it. “I hope that he is at peace.”

Sniffling, Daisy nods. “I know you don’t believe in...well, I appreciate you saying that. He might have been foolhardy and abrasive at times, but he was one of my dearest friends and I loved him.”

“I’m not sure what I believe anymore,” Jemma says, and she means it. Her scientific mind has created a great skepticism in her, but she has no way of knowing everything that others take comfort in is untrue, and what’s more the comfort may be more of the point than the reality. “Only that it’s important to me that you’re happy, and if belief makes you happy, or at least more content, who am I to judge? I’m sorry that it came to this. I’m sorry you lost someone so important to you.”

“Thank you.” Daisy sighs. “I don’t mean to be so melancholy. I’m glad that the Ghost has been vanquished and that no one else is in danger.”

“It’s reasonable,” Jemma promises. “There will be time for celebration, but there should also be time for you to heal. You’ve been through more these last months than anyone could have imagined, Daisy, and you’re - you’re so strong and wonderful, but I don’t want you to think you have to put on a brave face all of the time. I want to help.”

Daisy nods. “Having you here, talking to me, touching me, that helps.”

“Good,” Jemma says. Carefully, she begins rubbing Daisy’s arms, up and down as soothingly as she can. “Good, I want to take care of you. You’re precious to me.”

Humming, Daisy shuts her eyes and smiles. “And you to me,” she whispers.

There’s a knock at the door and Barbara sticks her head in. “Are we allowed in?” she asks softly.

“Of course,” says Daisy. “I didn’t mean to...to keep all of you out.”

“You weren’t,” Hannah promises as they filter in. “We only just got up here.” They were sharing their story and then the police had been asking questions about all that transpired in the basement, but Melinda had dismissed them as soon as she was able.

“It’s all tended to,” Kara says vaguely, and she nods at Jemma as if to confirm that that means what it seems like it might.

Jemma nods back, just once. “Daisy, will you be alright if I stand up for a moment and get undressed?” she asks softly.

“Yes, of course,” says Daisy.

“Why don’t we all get undressed?” Elena suggests with a mischievous smile. “And push all our beds together.”

“Mm, that sounds nice,” Barbara hums.

“Daisy?” Jemma prompts, folding her leotard neatly.

Daisy nods. “I’d like that. If you’re all…?” She glances around at all of them. “Alright with that?”

“Yes,” Kara and Alisha say in unison.

Akela nods. “Closeness sounds nice.” Then she and the others glance uncertainly at Hannah, who is the most likely to opt out of such a proposition.

“It does,” Hannah declares, shrugging slightly before she bends to unlace her slippers. “After a night like this, I think being close is the best possible thing.”

“It is,” Barbara agrees. Once she’s undressed, she grabs a hairbrush and sets it down before she starts to rearrange the beds to essentially make one giant bed, surrounding Daisy’s and Jemma’s. Kara is quick to join, and she takes up that brush without being asked and starts working it through Barbara’s hair.

“Oh, would you brush my hair too?” Daisy asks Jemma.

“Of course!” Jemma exclaims, and she sets about doing just that, slow and careful.

Akela starts rubbing Elena’s shoulders, while Elena rubs Alisha’s feet. Hannah sits at the edge of the group for a moment, looking awkward, until Daisy smiles at her and asks, “Would you like a massage anywhere?”

“My hands, perhaps?” Hannah murmurs.

Daisy nods. “I’d be happy to.” She holds out her hand invitingly.

So Hannah moves closer and offers her own hands, shy as anything. “I’m glad you’re alright,” she tells Daisy.

“Thank you,” Daisy says, starting to massage gently. “And I’m glad none of you were hurt. I couldn’t have lived with myself if that had happened.”

Kara gives a wary, sad hum. “It didn’t,” she says reassuringly. “We’re all here, together.”

“We are,” murmurs Barbara, turning to kiss Kara’s cheek.

“Oh, is _that_ where the evening is going,” teases Akela, smirking.

“It could be,” Jemma says hesitantly, glancing once again to Daisy for approval. This isn’t entirely unheard of, but she’s concerned about the timing.

“I think I’d like that,” Daisy says. “Closeness and affection. After...it would be comforting.”

Somewhat relieved, Jemma brushes Daisy’s hair to one side and kisses her neck. “Closeness and affection,” she repeats.

“Won’t it get confusing?” teases Elena. “With so many in the bed, I mean. But I am certainly not complaining.”

“Our numbers are even,” Jemma says. “I think we’ll manage.”

Kara sets her brush down and wraps around Barbara as completely as she can. “It’s just like choreography,” she muses.

“Oh, don’t bring up work right now,” says Akela with a laugh, reaching to cup one of Elena’s breasts. “It’ll spoil the mood.”

“I meant it as encouragement!” Kara protests, nudging Akela with her foot.

“I know,” replies Akela, winking. “I suppose if it helps.” She nips at Elena’s neck, which earns her a startled yelp before Elena turns to kiss her properly.

Hannah still looks awed, even with Daisy’s hands on hers, and so Alisha laughs softly and leans forward to kiss her. “That’s alright?” she asks playfully.

“Yes,” Hannah says, and idly she moves her thumb to rub over Daisy’s.

“You can tell any of us to stop and we will,” says Daisy. “We know you’re new to, well, all of this.”

“Thank you,” Hannah murmurs, blushing. “It’s - it’s fine, though? That we… I mean, Daisy, you and Jemma are… and Barbara and Kara, and…”

“It is,” Barbara promises. “There are different kinds of love and caring.”

Elena pauses in kissing Akela to nod. “Just because we love one person doesn’t mean we can’t love others too.”

“That’s a pretty thought,” Hannah declares.

“And this is one of the nicest ways to show it,” Jemma murmurs, now busy kissing over Daisy’s shoulders reverently.

“We deserve this,” Daisy says. “We deserve to be safe and happy and together.”

 

* * *

 

“It’s nice being here early,” Daisy says, idly tracing patterns on Jemma’s arm. They’ve snuck into the theater a few minutes before rehearsal for some alone time.

“It is,” Jemma agrees, leaning her head against Daisy’s and gazing at the stage. “In these little moments where everything is peaceful. It almost feels like we’re normal, like this.”

Daisy chuckles. “It would be dull though, wouldn’t it? Being normal?”

“Most likely,” Jemma murmurs. “But there are still moments I yearn for it, or at least to be able to be with you as normal lovers are.”

Making a soft sympathetic noise, Daisy runs her fingers through Jemma’s hair. “I do wish that, too,” she admits. “If I were a man, or you were, we could marry and no one would raise an eyebrow.”

Jemma sighs with obvious longing. “Everyone, even just strangers we met in passing, could know that I’m yours as you’re mine,” she says. “I don’t - I don’t want to be anyone else, or want you to be, but I want to be sworn to you, does that make sense?”

“Of course,” nods Daisy. “Perhaps...perhaps we could each get rings and pretend? Just for ourselves?”

“I’d like that,” Jemma hums. “It could be real in our hearts, at least.”

Daisy gently brings Jemma’s hand to her mouth to kiss it. “Yes. We’ll know we’re married, and that’s the important thing.”

“It is,” Jemma agrees. “I can’t wait, in truth.”

Melinda enters the theater and smirks when she sees the two of them cuddled together in the audience seats. “We could tell Melinda,” Daisy says, grinning. “She’d be happy for us, I’m sure.”

“Yes!” Jemma exclaims, delighted. “We should tell her.”

“Tell her what?” Melinda asks, coming over.

Jemma giggles. “You say it,” she murmurs, suddenly shy.

“We were talking,” Daisy says, all in a rush, “and we’re going to buy rings and act as if we are really married!”

“Oh?” Melinda smirks fondly. “You’re sure?” She’s clearly teasing.

“We are,” Jemma promises, nodding earnestly. “I want to be her wife more than anything.”

“As do I,” Daisy adds.

“Good,” says Melinda, nodding. “I know you’ll take care of each other.”

“Always,” Jemma says.

Daisy’s about to say something more, but Coulson and Hunter walk in. “Melinda!” calls Coulson, smiling. “And Daisy and Jemma, good morning.”

“Yes,” says Melinda, smiling in a way that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Nice that we’ll be able to perform whatever we want, isn’t it?” he asks. “No more cretins hiding in the basement, no more box number five, no more salary.”

“Worked out pretty well,” agrees Hunter.

“Box number five still exists,” Melinda points out. “It’s just open to anyone now.”

“Of course,” Coulson says with a chuckle. “No madman keeping it all to himself.”

“I think if we’d listened to some of my ideas, we’d have caught the bastard quicker,” Hunter points out.

Daisy barely manages to stop herself from snapping at him, while Melinda just rolls her eyes. “The important thing is that he’s gone,” she says. “For good.”

“He is,” Jemma says vehemently. “Although, sirs, I would ask we not go over it again and again? Some of us would rather put it behind us entirely.” She squeezes Daisy’s hand.

“Of course,” Coulson says with a nod. “Rehearsal is set to begin soon, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is,” Melinda says. “The two of you should start getting ready.”

“Alright,” Jemma chirps, rising to her feet and gently tugging Daisy up with her.

Once they’re out of earshot, Hunter says, “My plan to deal with the Ghost was top-notch, though, if only you’d list-”

Melinda coughs loudly. “With all due respect, sir, I am the one who has primarily dealt with the Ghost over the last few years. I am the one who knew the most about how he operated. I highly doubt that anyone else’s plans would have been as effective.”

Hunter boggles at her for a second, and Coulson quickly says, “Yes, of course, we are indebted to you for your help.”

“Yes,” says Melinda. “Thank you.” Privately, she hopes that if a similar situation arises in the future, they’ll listen to her _before_ it reaches those levels of absurdity.


End file.
